


For every season

by TheDameintheRaininMaine



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Bath Sex, Blindfolds, Clothes On, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Edging, F/M, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Food Kink, Hair-pulling, Kinktober, Lingerie, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Morning Sex, Nipple Play, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Pregnant Sex, Quiet Sex, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Scars, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sexy Letters, Smut, Spanking, Strength Kink, Strip Tease, Voyeurism, Woman on Top, aka happily married gendrya in storms end, in which I honestly don't these two are quite as kinky as others, leaving marks, pretty light-hearted overall, set in continuity with the Maiden of the Sea, some of these end in kink!fail, those will be labeled, unless otherwise specificed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 27,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDameintheRaininMaine/pseuds/TheDameintheRaininMaine
Summary: Arya chuckles"No really," she continues, "There's no weird little things I do that turns you on?"An outside observer, might years later, describe it as mating season.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 201
Kudos: 293
Collections: Gendrya Kinktober 2020





	1. Day 1: Dirty Talk

When they were young, Gendry always assumed Arya’s dirty mouth was a defense mechanism. That she thought that if she could out-curse the biggest man, it would somehow let her prove herself, that she might not be seen as something tiny and weak to be stepped on or eaten.

He still suspects that’s part of it. But there’s a more fun part too. 

Namely, the discovery that getting a few drinks into her makes her mouth spew filth. 

“Gods,” she starts off as they reach the hallway outside their chambers. “Why in the world do we still host these stupid feasts for these stupid fucking lords, most of them don’t even like us.”

Gendry feels a smile quirk at the corner of his mouth. He’s only had a few drinks, he barely even feels them, but he likes to try and meet her in the middle, match whatever she’s going for. 

“Because they’re an excuse to drink. And drinks a’plenty we need to get through them.”

They’ve reached the door, and while Gendry is unbolting it, Arya presses herself against his side, running one hand along his hip, around to the front of his groin. He grunts, as he feels his cock stiffen through the fabric against her hand. 

“This was all I could think about while they were talking,” she whispers, leaning up to run her tongue along his neck. “Your cock, and how much I wanted it deep inside me. I’ve seen so many cocks over the years, and yours is perfect.”

Gendry snorts. 

“Don’t much fancy hearin’ bout all those other cocks right now.”

Arya’s hand slows, slows enough that he wants to groan at the lack of friction. He finally manages to get the door open and step into their chambers. 

“Don’t be jealous,” she assures him, “They were mostly on dead men. ‘Sides, I’m not talking about it being the biggest or the thickest or the prettiest. I heard lots about that from the courtesans.”

He blames the courtesans quite a lot for Arya’s mouth too. 

“I don’t know how it measures up like that, dead men don’t get hard. I just know it’s perfect for me. Fills me up and drives me crazy.”

She pulls back and shoves a hand against his chest, where he’s already unbuttoning his doublet. 

“Now get naked and lets get that perfect cock inside me. I want to get pounded so good I feel it straight through tomorrow.”

She’s naked already when he’s barely got his doublet off. She decides he must be working too slow, because she pushes him back and unties his ties just enough to free his aching cock and straddle him to impale herself on it. 

All he seems to be able to do is watch and hold on as she moans and grunts atop him. 

“Yes,” she starts, moving one of his hands from her thigh to her hip “Squeeze my bum.” Well how could he say no to that? She sighs happily when he does. 

Her skin is flushed and her lips are red. He knows most men debate endlessly about tits-vs-arse, but he thinks Arya’s lips might be his favorite part of her. Both because of what they can do on his own, on his skin, his nipples, his cock. But also because all the little sounds she makes, all the words, filthy, sweet or both, that escape her in throes of passion make him burn. 

Gendry’s not a loquacious man in really any situation. Even when taking petitions, during which sometimes it seems like he doesn’t do much but grunt. In bed, any talking is pretty much always done by Arya.

He reaches down to rub Arya’s nub, and she groans and speeds up. 

“Faster,” she demands. 

Gendry wonders if his own words could make her burn too. 

He leans back a bit, taking in the sight of her tits swinging gracefully. It’s one of the reasons he loves her being on top so much.

He runs his fingers along one, feeling her nipple pucker. Arya’s breath hitches and he feels her cunt begin to flutter. 

“Pinch it,” she says, her voice softer, she’s almost asking. He does and she squeaks.

“I love your tits,” he says, “They’re so....bouncy.” Seven hells, that was bad, “Bouncy, like...bags. Bags of...umm, jam.”

He cringes before she can say anything. Clearly he’s bad at this. 

Gendry is well used to the feel of Arya’s walls fluttering around him as she comes. He’s less used to her orgasm coming along with a burst of uproarious laughter. Even as he moans, and spills inside her, she continues laughing. When he tries to slip out, she falls forward onto his chest and still won’t stop giggling. 

“You grew up a blacksmith Gendry,” she manages out, as she crawls off of him and cuddles up beside him on the bed. She’s still cuddling him, so he can’t be too upset. “Best let your hands do the talking and put your mouth to better use.”

He raises an eyebrow. 

“And what, pray tell-” he rolls onto his side and leans over to lick a nipple. “Might that be.”

She hums, and reaches out to rub his shoulders.

“I can think of a thing or two.”


	2. Day 2: Outdoor sex

Arya stretches out on the grass as Gendry finishes pulling off her smallclothes. She tucks her hands under the back of her head and watches as he leans back on his heels and pulls off his own clothes. 

“I used to imagine it like this.”

Gendry raises his eyebrow as he discards his shirt. Arya raises herself up on her elbows to look at him. It’s night time, and the moon is big and bright, but the light is still low enough that she’s feeling like a bit of a romantic. They’d snuck away after supper, Arya assuring him that no one ever came to the Godswood at night, barely even her. 

“Back when we were with the Brotherhood, those few days I imagined that we might have to stay with them. Sometimes my mind wandered. And after that, when things were hard, I would imagine I was back there. That we’d grown up with them.”

It had appealed to her at the time, like her dreams of being like Wenda the white fawn. Like something out of one of Sansa’s stupid songs. Something that sounded nice until she thought about never seeing any of her family again, never avenging any of them. 

Gendry shakes his head as he removes his breeches. He kneels and stretches himself on top of her, bracing himself on his forearms, his chest to hers and his nose brushing hers, but he doesn’t push into her yet. 

“They’d have gelded me if I’d even looked at you.”

Arya pouts and kisses him once. 

“It was a fantasy. That one day you’d look at me the way I looked at you and...you’d lead me away from the others and lay me down in the grass like this.”

Gendry snorts. He leans on one arm and runs his fingers along her lower lips, making her legs spread apart lazily, finding her wet and ready. 

“I think even then you were a little more like your sister than you’d like to admit.”

He hoists himself up on his hand and enters her in one smooth motion. Arya groans and flexes against him, bringing her knees up on either side of his hips. 

“Well, maybe not quite like this,” she admits. She shifts, and he thrusts and hits an especially good spot. “Maybe I also thought about you cornering me behind a tree, and keeping most of our clothes on and just pushing them up or down while you fucked me. We would try to be quiet, but I would have scratches from the bark along my back…”

He hits that spot again and her words leave her. The wood is doing something for her. The cool air on her skin, the smell of wood and leaves, the slightly damp grass against her back. It feels natural and it feels right, out here, just the two of them. Despite her words, there’s something about this that feels like it demands complete nakedness too. She pushes up against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and feeling completely warm and open. 

Gendry lifts one of her legs up to his shoulder, and the change in depth is enough to push her up towards her peak. His eyes are smiling even as his mouth drops open in pleasure. She presses her face into his neck as she comes, and knows she’s fibbing a little. Forest loving is absolutely something Sansa would approve of even if she never would have brought it up herself. She would hate grass stains on her clothes and bugs.

When Gendry’s breathing hard after pulling out, he laughs again. 

“I keep thinking of that stupid song Tom used to sing. It’s come to suit us.”

Arya wrinkles her nose. 

“We might have frozen to death if we tried this north of King’s Landing. And even though you have plenty of yellow silk now, I must say it is not my color.”

Gendry stretches out beside her, as unashamed of his own nakedness as she was of hers. 

“Maybe I’ll wear the silk then.”

“I’m not binding my hair with grass either. I tried that once, it doesn’t work at all.”

Gendry chuckles again. He rolls her with one arm so he can wrap them around her. 

“And I know you have no need of a crown.”

There’s a lovely pause, them both naked in each other’s arms in the soft grass, no one to see them but the moon. 

“Do we have time to try the tree thing too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could also be titled "in which I have 'Dancing in the Moonlight' stuck in my head".


	3. Day 3: Hair-pulling

Arya couldn’t have done this at first. His hair wasn’t long enough. When she’d been at Storm’s End for several months, she made a comment that she liked his hair better longer, like it had been when they were young. 

He had smiled. 

“Well I suppose it’s not like I’ll catch it in the fire anymore.”

It wasn't exactly long now, but it hung down in his eyes when he'd been working. 

She had made the discovery one day, seemingly at random. Gendry had been laying on his stomach, head nestled between her thighs, feasting on her cunt like he hadn't eaten in days. She’d already come once, and he had gentled her down from her high before diving back in.

Her hands were resting on the back of his head, trying to press him into her even closer. She hadn’t consciously grabbed a hold of his hair, but then he’d started sucking on her nub again, and it had felt so good so suddenly that she had nearly by instinct clenched her hands and pulled. 

With a start, she almost bursts out with an “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t expect him to moan, much less moan so deeply that her flesh quivers even more underneath his mouth. 

So she does it again. Maybe she should have been more cautious, but that had never been her nature. 

The moan is even stronger this time, making Arya’s toes curl. Gendry’s tongue begins to quicken, When she does it again, his moan is so deep it’s practically a howl. Hearing him, Arya feels herself get impossibly wetter, even moreso when she glances downward and sees him pawing at his cock with his free hand. He hadn’t even taken his breeches off before going down on her, and now as she pulls his hair he’s rubbing himself through his half open fly like a horny green boy while his tongue licks her faster and faster, and his throat makes noises against her like a beast. 

Gendry groans and spills all over himself with a muttered “Fuck yes,” even before Arya comes apart, her fingers still wrapped in his hair. 

When they’re done and Gendry is reaching for his fallen shirt to wipe himself up, a little red, Arya can’t stop a snicker from escaping. 

“I know I asked you about weird little things,” she says, “But I didn’t quite think you’d get off on me pulling your hair. I can tell you never had siblings.”

Gendry pouts and Arya tries to smile, tries to show him she’s teasing and she doesn’t want him to feel bad about it. 

“‘Snot like I just decided to think it felt good,” he says, “And it didn’t really feel painful when you were doing it, just felt...I don’t know, kind of intense.” He rubs the top of his head sheepishly. “It kind of hurts now though.”

“Come here,” Arya tells him, spreading her knees and patting her stomach. Gendry turns and nestles his back to her front. With his head on her chest, Arya begins using her fingers to rub small circles against his scalp, beginning at his hair line. 

“My mother used to do this for me sometimes,” she starts, voice soft, “When I had to put my hair up in some ridiculous style for a feast and the metal pins would press into my scalp and make it hurt. She’d take them all out and rub until it stopped hurting. I wish she could have done it when Sansa used to pull my hair.”

“She used to do that a lot?”

Arya nods. 

“Sansa would never slap me or kick me, it wasn’t ladylike, but somehow pulling my hair was fine. So don’t get any ideas about finding out if I like that in bed.”

Gendry laughs. 

“I’ve seen the looks you get on your face the few times the maids have helped with your hair. I would never think you would enjoy me pulling it.”

“Especially with your big old bull hands,” she laughs, giving his head a gentle swat. 

Her fingers are making their route further back on his head and Gendry’s eyes fall shut and Arya feels him hum. 

“Does that feel good too?” she asks. 

He hums again. 

“Yes. Different kind of good though.”

Arya’s fingers have barely made it over half of his scalp when she realizes he’s fallen asleep. She manages to extricate herself from underneath him and roll to her own side of the bed. She looks at Gendry’s sleeping form, all soft and peaceful and sated, and can’t help but laugh again. 

Stupid man. She’d pull his hair all he wanted, no matter how weird she thinks it is.


	4. Day 4: Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's set after the Long Night, but before Gendry's ill-fated proposal. 
> 
> Less smutty than usual this time, but in my defense, it's Sunday.

In Arya’s old chambers, there is enough light, from the fire and the early morning sun peeking through her window, that they can see each other more clearly. It’s pretty much the first time that they’ve found themselves together anywhere but nearly the darkest of night. Rebuilding is still going strong, they take rest when they can. 

They finished up several minutes ago, sweat cooled, clothing still on the floor, but neither of them seem to want to be the first to get up and leave.

Gendry’s fingers move softly, running up and down her skin. They linger along the scars that dot it like a map. There’s no need to go over the stitched cut on her forehead, or the strange blue mark where she’d been choked. He knows those. The rest of them are new to him, a map of five years worth of hardships that he wasn’t there for. The parts of her life he couldn’t share. 

His fingers eventually find their way to the deep scars on her side. His eyes meet hers, and she looks away. 

Arya shakes her head. She doesn’t want to talk about them. This is one of the few times they’ve stayed together, awake at least, after having sought comfort in each other’s bodies. She should have known. They were friends. Clearly being together would result in talking, which would result in questions. 

Instead, she turns her attention to him. Gendry had managed to escape the Long Night without many wounds, mostly bruises that were already healing and scrapes along his hands. That doesn’t mean his skin is unmarred. 

She’s always enjoyed watching the muscles play under the skin of his chest. The smattering of dark hair along it was nice too. On one of his shoulders is a long, thin scar. 

“Where did this come from?” she asks him. 

He shrugs, eyes trailing down at her fingers on his skin. 

“Customer tried to stiff me. Went after him when he got on his horse, and he cracked his whip at me. Hurt like a bitch, I didn’t notice it scarred for ages.”

Her stomach burns. Her fingers travel further south.

There’s a cluster of tiny scars along his collarbone, pink and dry and varying in size and shapes. 

“Sparks and splatters from the forge,” he tells her before she can even guess, “You learn pretty quick to wipe at them with your glove before they can get through your shirt or your apron.”

Another long one, diagonal along his abdomen, Arya lets her hands linger there, feeling his stomach muscles raise and lower with his breathing. 

“This one looks like a knife.”

“Got in the middle of a fight in a tavern. That one was really shallow, but the knife was dull so it scarred ugly.”

Pains in his past, she thinks. Finished, gone, healed they would say. Somehow they still turn her stomach. She doesn’t like that, so she turns her attention south to his cock. 

Soon enough, he’s hard again, and she’s quick to plant her hands on his shoulders and take him inside her again. The initial curiosity itch scratched, Arya still finds herself craving it, again and again. 

When she’s moving atop him, his eyes stay on her, and then she sees them drift. It’s then she realizes that his fingers have once again found the scar on her side. 

The white lines are rough, but have knitted together again. Healed. In case she ever wanted a reminder of how fragile her human body could be.

She bats his hand away, but her eyes begin to trail along his own path of scars, his own journey of hurt. 

He will ask, Arya’s sure of it. She’s not sure what she will tell him. 

With a pang, Arya realizes she may not have time. She’s not sure she’s going to be here for long.


	5. Day 5: Oral Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The is the first prompt that I'm doing out of order. Prompts are skipped for a variety of reasons, 1. It squicks me 2. It's a kink I know jack about 3. It's a kink I can't imagine them being into 4. I can't figure out a way to write it in a medieval setting 5. It's too similar to another one I'm planning 
> 
> This is also set post the Long Night, probably about a week after Scars

And here, they find themselves in her bed again.

Arya had let him take her on her back that morning, and she feels the need to get on top again. The sense of power it gives her, watching his eyes as she rides him to his climax, Arya could almost understand how sex seemed to run so much of the world. Arya felt like she could get straight drunk on the look in Gendry’s eyes as he came inside of her alone.

“You know,” Gendry says, between kisses as she struggles with the buttons on his shirt. “You can let me do the work some of the time.”

Arya raises an eyebrow as she pulls her own tunic over her head, before giving him another kiss. 

“Where’s the fun in that though?”

She’s been feeling lighter the past few days, she’s not sure why, but with the march on King’s Landing creeping up in the next week, she won’t take it for granted. 

She plants a line of kisses down his chest and stomach, dropping her tongue into his navel just to see how he reacts. He makes a soft noise like a laugh, but it’s a satisfied noise.

She undoes his laces and pulls his cock free. An unaccounted for stash of candles had been found, and they didn’t have to be quite so stingy with them now. With the extra light, Arya takes a good look, wrapping her hand around the base.

She’s seen plenty of cocks, but hard and up close and attached to Gendry is different. With a rush, she’s overcome by an urge, and her tongue darts out to lick a stripe across the head. 

Gendry makes a surprised noise, that morphs into “Y-y-you don’t have to-”

Suddenly self-conscious, Arya pulls back. 

“Was it bad?” she asks, voice sounding more like the broken-hearted child in the cave than begging him to stay than she’s comfortable with. 

Gendry’s breathing quiets. 

“No.”

He looks like he wants to say something but can’t make himself do it.

Emboldened, Arya returns her attention, this time popping the head between her lips and sucking. 

Gendry curses, his hands grasping at her sheets. Arya leans back and licks her lips, planting a kiss to the tip before taking more of it in her mouth. Arya glances back up and winks at Gendry, letting him see his cock disappearing between her lips. He already sounds like he's losing his mind. 

The taste is fine. Skin, salty, a little bitter. She’s heard tell of this act from the whores in Braavos. Some enjoyed it, spoke of the speed and ease compared to other ways to service customers. Others spoke of men who had apparently not believed in even an occasional wash. Arya had found the whole idea repellent at the time, and is surprised to find she’s enjoying it. 

Gendry’s hand is resting gently on the back of her head as she continues to bob. This is in contrast to the curses and begs coming from his throat, his eyes wide. His cock is good-sized, a proper mouthful, she thinks. She’d thought he was hard when she started. But he’s seemed to stiffen even more, become even hotter, under her attentions. 

She catches his gaze again, and the look in his eye makes Arya’s heart catch in her throat. His mouth is hanging open, little gasps escaping, his hips are trying to move against her free hand that she’s got bracing him against the bed. But it’s his eyes. Briefly, she wonders if any of his other girls have ever done this for him. 

Distracted by her thoughts, Arya doubles down on his cock, running her tongue along him, using her hand on the base to gently fondle his balls. 

“I’m gonna-” he says, and she keeps going, keeps bobbing, keeps sucking.

She wants to please him, she realizes with a start, as Gendry spills his seed in her mouth. She’s always hated that term, hated hearing men talk about how the women they knew could ‘please them’. But she wants to please Gendry, wants to make him feel good, wants him to find as much pleasure in her body as she has in his. 

The realization disconcerts her. Almost as much as the joy she feels when Gendry pulls her up to him, still sweaty, and whispers to her, 

“You’re wonderful.”

She can’t look at his eyes now, it’s too intense. When she’s trying to sleep after, she can’t keep the images out of her head of the army gathering itself to march on King’s Landing in a few days. She can’t still be here when they go. She never wants to leave this bed. But she will. Arya pulls the blanket up around her shoulders, and turns away.


	6. Day 6: Sixtynine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to our regularly scheduled happy-married Gendrya

“Arya, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Arya scoffs as she pulls off her smallclothes and rolls onto her back. She scoots back against the pillows at the head of their bed, raising her backside until it’s above her chest, hooking her feet into the loops she’d made using the ties on their bed posts. 

“I caught Daron and Tim doing it like this, it looked fun.”

Gendry does not remind her Daron and Tim are a couple of knuckleheads who regularly have to visit the maester because they get bored in the armory during work and spend their time bonking each other on the head with swords. 

“Can’t we just do it on our sides like we usually do?”

Arya scoffs again. 

“Have a sense of adventure for once. Now get naked and come dangle your cock over my face.”

Gendry understands her eagerness. Their sex life might not be the most outrageous, but they were open to trying things, even if they didn’t always work out well. And laying on their sides to pleasure each other with their mouths at the same time had been something they tried that worked out wonderfully. But Gendry couldn’t help looking at the set up and feel it didn’t look entirely safe. 

To the extent that he has to take himself in hand for a minute to get hard enough to fulfill her request. 

“Aww, is me upside down with my legs open not enough to turn you on?”

“Too scared you might slip and lose control of your teeth.”

His words are true, but soon enough, he climbs onto the bed and scoots closer to her. 

Arya sticks her tongue out, searching, to find his tip and guide it to her lips. Gendry sighs, feeling the warm familiar pull as she begins to pleasure him with her mouth. When he’s certain she’s solid and balanced, he turns his attention to what’s in front of him. 

Upside down, her cunt is spread wide open, as though she is a fine meal on a platter. Testing with a finger, he finds her only a little wet, so he starts off slow, pressing a kiss to her nub, fingers teasing at her lips. It will be worth the wait, she always tastes much better dripping. 

Arya’s got a pretty good hold of his cock head with her lips, though her movements are a bit clumsy, and the soft moans it draws from him help him gentle her up a bit, lapping at her with a bit more vigor.

Once she starts to feel warm and slick against Gendry’s tongue, he’s suddenly distracted by the strange movements near his groin. 

“Time out.”

He pulls back. 

“Can’t do it,” Arya’s voice sounds strained, “Back hurts, and all the blood is rushing to my head. Also, your balls are in my eyes.”

Gendry climbs back, cock bobbing free, and Arya pulls her feet loose and sits upright, one hand on her head, one rubbing her back.

“Seven hells, we’re getting old aren’t we?”

Gendry doesn’t know how to answer that. Seven hells, he’s thought those exact words often enough as Lord of Storm’s End. But he didn’t feel like it meant they should give up, and it frustrates him that he just got her worked up and then they had to stop. 

“Maybe you were right, we should just do it on our sides like we normally would.”

“No,” Gendry says, getting up and grabbing her arm. “Switch places with me.”

Gendry’s taller than her, so he doesn’t really need the foot loops, and his torso is long enough that it can stay mostly horizontal. That does not mean that he doesn’t feel downright goofy, upside down against his headboard, cock dangling loose a really bizarre way. 

He pats the bed with the back of his hand. 

“Now get up here and get your knees around my ears.”


	7. Day 7: Woman on Top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set roughly between ch 1 and 2 of Maiden of the Sea, after Arya returns, but before their marriage.

Arya knew inside somehow that lots of things must have happened in the three years Gendry had been at Storm’s End without her, but somehow things still surprised her. 

The last ships had come in from Weeping Town for the year, and tradition called for a feast to celebrate, and many of the minor houses in the Stormlands had sent emissaries to join. 

Including several eligible young noblewomen who had apparently become acquainted with Gendry. Who is now one inch away from hiding. 

There’s a walkway that circles over the Round Hall, acting nearly as a balcony, Every ten feet or so is a column, supporting the floor above them. Right now, Gendry is sitting on one of the ledges, his back pressed against it’s column, while talking to Arya. 

“Everyone acted like I should get married immediately when I came here. Before I even knew where everything was or what I needed to do every day. It was ridiculous. Even if you hadn’t, if I hadn’t known you were...I don’t think it would have gone over well. I’ve never been the sort of man who could bed a woman I barely knew, I can’t imagine I could marry one I barely knew. I was never good at flirting either, or discouraging flirting it turns out. I’m sure I made my share of enemies over that.”

“Stupid bull,” Arya says, with a fond smile, that then wavers. “I should have been here.”

“No,” Gendry insists, “You needed to heal, you needed to be whole again. I don’t have an issue with that.”

He peers over the balcony. 

“And neither of us could have known that eight of them would show up at once.”

Eight of those women who had previously come to Storm’s End with offers of marriage. Women of the Stormlands with names like Swann and Caron and Errol. 

Eight women who arrived tonight with fire in their eyes. 

“Maybe we should announce our betrothal tonight,” Arya says, looking uncertain. No one at the feast knows what to make of her, the old friend who’s turned up at Storm’s End suddenly and was welcomed with open arms.

Gendry sighs, and grabs her by the waist. 

“No, you said you didn’t want to make a big thing out of it, and neither do I . We shouldn’t have to give them a reason to keep their hands to themselves.”

Her gaze stays with his for a moment, as his hands ball up in the soft fabric of her tunic. It’s one of her nice ones, made of silk she picked up in her travels, paired with close fitting breeches made of a soft fabric that stretches with her muscles. 

“You know,” she starts off, “If we were wolves, I would just put my scent all over you so that she would know you were mine.”

Gendry looks at her. 

“And how exactly would you do that?”

“Well an alpha wolf would pee on you. But I don’t think either of us are into that, so I have a better idea.”

She slips off her shoes, then meets his eye

“Arya, anyone could come up here and see us.”

She stares, then moves to the waistband of her breeches. 

“I’ll leave my tunic on then.”

It comes down nearly to her knees, and when she peels her breeches off, it nearly looks like she’s wearing a very short dress. Gendry takes a moment to admire her legs, and when she meets his gaze again meaningfully, he reaches for his laces.

He gets them down just far enough, about around his knees, when she climbs up, plunks her knees on either side of his hips, and mounts him. She takes his cock with a long, soft sigh that nearly sets him on fire, always does. 

Arya was always good at saying what she wanted, and not shy about taking it, Gendry thought, as he touches her tits through her tunic. The fabric is so soft and thin that he can feel her warm skin through it, can feel her nipples hardening wonderfully, even though he wishes he could see them. 

If anyone looked up, they might see Arya’s knees. If they were underneath the column, they might hear them. 

When he grips her hips to help her take him deeper, he wonders if any of those other ladies would do this for him. Or would they lay back and shut their eyes? Spend their lives contenting themselves with status in exchange for a marriage with no affection?

Would a single one of them ride him like a horse, while kissing the side of his neck and whispering sweet things in his ear to ease his nerves and assure him that she was his?

He’s quite sure not a single one would come, writhing in his lap, making the most incredible noises in his ear, headless of anyone who could possibly walk in and see them.

When they’re done, Arya slips her breeches back on. Gendry leans over the edge of the balcony. It’s not even been a few minutes, but it feels like it’s been forever. 

Arya offers him her arm.

“Ready to go face the hordes?”

With her, Gendry thinks he might just be able to.


	8. Day 8: Mirror Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter contains some minor kink!fail as a result of my headcanon that Arya would likely have some struggles with disassociation/depersonalization as a result of her time with the Faceless Men

“I look like a doll.”

Gendry sighs. It’s so rare to see Arya dressed up properly. It’s the twins’ second name-day, and it turns out the Stormlands has a special tradition for it, stuck on top of something from the faith of the seven that neither of them were familiar with. But Ely and Mollie and even Maester Elric had all said that it would be expected, and Mollie had made Arya’s dress special.

It’s the laciest, most be-ribboned thing Gendry’s ever seen on her. Arya had refused to say a word though, it was a gift and she would not speak ill of Mollie’s work. He thinks she looks beautiful regardless. 

“I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

Arya snorts, looking so self-conscious Gendry can’t bear it. 

“C’mere,” he says, standing. He leads her over to her dressing table, laden with extra boot laces, skin and burn salves and items needing mending rather than powders and cosmetic potions. 

He reaches out and moves the looking glass a bit. It goes to the floor, and when pulled out, Arya can see her whole self standing in front of it. Then he kisses her left ear. 

“I want you to watch,” he says, moving his lips to the edge of her jaw. 

She starts to protest, but Gendry shushes her by sucking on her pulse point. The angle’s strange, but the image in the looking glass is perfect. He runs his lips further down her neck, to where she still has a pale ghost of the scar the Night King left on her. There’s another small one, a scratch maybe, just on her collarbone, and his hands trace it. 

“I don’t think a doll would have these,” he comments.

He reaches into the front of the ridiculous frosted gown and loosens the top of Arya’s stays enough to lift her tits free. They aren’t large or perfect. In fact, Arya often complains that they sag more now than they did before she had the twins and now she’s basically forced to lace them in. Gendry loves them regardless, loves the way they look in his hands. 

He moves to bunch up her ridiculous frilly skirt around her waist. 

“Help?” he asks, doing his best to pull the fabric to the side. 

Arya’s got a strange look in her eyes, but she reaches below and pushes her smallclothes to the floor. She also hoists one of her legs up onto her chair, so that she could help hold the voluminous monstrosity away from herself. 

Gendry runs his fingers through the little triangle of dark curls, past that to where she’s pink and wet, and he spreads her open. In the mirror, he sees his fingers moving, a bit by feel, but more from memory. 

Arya’s hand that’s holding up her skirt shifts, and she presses herself onto his fingers, rocking herself against his hand. It still looks like her gaze is avoiding the mirror. When he slides two fingers into her, little gasps start escaping her throat with her movements. 

He’s already pretty hard, but seeing his fingers disappearing into her is extra heady. Seeing her little movements, the blush on her cheeks as he blindly kisses them. He doesn’t let her push back against him too much. This is about her. 

Arya’s breath quickens, and her hair begins to fall in her face. He can see her slick shining on his fingers, and he thinks just a little bit more…

One of her hands grabs his wrist. 

“Time out.”

He jumps back, uncertain, wondering if he’d hurt her somehow. 

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” her eyes are still a little off, “It’s not you- it’s just, seeing my reflection like that...it made my mind spin and keep repeating that what I saw wasn’t me, that I was No One.”

Oh. Gendry hadn’t even thought of thay, and with a rush, he feels awful. 

“Turn around,” he says, and he guides her to sit down, “Don’t look, don’t even think about the mirror.”

He rests his hands on her shoulders. 

“You are not no one. You are Arya Stark. You are sister to both a King and a Queen. You are my wife, you are our daughter’s mother. You are fierce and strong and sometimes a giant pain in the arse. You are nowhere near No One, you made that clear to them years ago.”

Arya takes a deep breath, opens her eyes again and smiles. 

“Thank you.”

Gendry moves to stand, to grab a rag from the basin to help her clean up, but she grabs his wrist again. 

“C-can you finish though?”

He sighs with a smile.

“Skirt up again.”

This time, she uses both hands to lift the giant cupcake of a skirt, holding it out of his way while she spreads her legs lazily. It doesn’t take long, he fingers finding her slick pink flesh again and returns to their movements, before Arya softly cries out and comes. 

“Thank you,” she says again, lowering her skirt, as she passes her her smallclothes to put back on. He plunks a kiss on her head. 

“Now let’s go show the rest of the Stormlands our babies.”

In the mirror, he catches one last glance. 

He reaches over her front. 

“And remember to tuck your tits back in.”


	9. Day 9: Leaving Marks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set right before Jon's trial in 8.06

Gendry finds her again in the ashes of the Red Keep. 

His mind had called up so many things he wanted to say to her, he wanted to rage and plead and beg for an explanation. 

But he sees Arya, bloodied and covered in ash, and his words vanish. In an instant, she’s in his arms and he doesn’t question it at all. It’s how it should be. 

They find themselves in bed that night, and then again. They don’t talk. 

The night before Jon’s trial, it happens again. 

It was a shock, that Arya lets him roll on top of her so easily now. It’s like that now, her on her back, him fucking her smooth and even and deep. Her eyes are hard. As much as Gendry likes being on top on occasion, he doesn’t want her soft and submissive, doesn’t want her to lose her fire. 

It seems he needn’t have worried. Arya on her back is not weak nor soft.

“Harder,” she demands, and Gendry lifts one of her legs so her ankle rests on his shoulder, letting him drive into her deeper. 

A few moments, quiet but for the sounds of skin slapping. 

“Harder,” she pleads rather than demands.

He lifts her other leg onto his other shoulder, grips his hands onto the iron of the headboard and says,

“Tell me when.”

He pours all of his emotions into his thrusts, his anger at her leaving, his fear that she had run off and died and they’d ended things the way they had. The shame that he hadn’t even been able to go with her. The sadness he still felt looking at her, knowing so much but still feeling like he was being held at arms length. He puts every bit of feeling he’s had in the last moons since she left, and soon he’s fucking her harder than ever before, greedily taking every bit of pleasure he can from her hot, slippery cunt. 

And she never tells him when, even when the headboard creaks and bangs into the wall from the force of his thrusts. 

Gendry would feel worse about it, but Arya writhes underneath him, moans so deep and guttural that they sound almost animal. Reaches her hands out, grabbing for his shoulders, holding tight and nails digging into his skin as she responds to each thrust, bucking and pushing back against him. When she comes, almost screaming, he feels her nails scratching down his skin, sharp pain pushing him over the edge with a beastial groan. 

Afterwards, Arya reaches out to the top of his back. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, gingerly fingering the scratch marks she’d left, one having drawn a drop of blood. 

“It’s fine Arya,” he insists. Part of him likes the idea that he’ll still be feeling her tomorrow, “Your sharp edges don’t worry me. I can handle them.”

This sharp edge he in fact quite likes, but he wishes she would trust him with the edges she has turned inward.

Arya rolls onto her back and just sort of stares at the ceiling. 

“After tomorrow,” she says off into the abyss, “No matter the judgement...I’m leaving Westeros.”

Gendry is briefly struck dumb. 

“Where will you go?”

Arya pauses before answering. 

“Don’t know yet. Thinking maybe I’ll get a ship, a crew. Do some exploring in the western waters, those aren’t well mapped. But I can’t stay here. Westeros might be at peace again, but it’s full of ghosts. If I’m going to be Arya Stark again, if I’m going to remember who she is, I can’t be here.”

Gendry still feels struck dumb. 

Selfishly, his next words are, “Where does that leave me?”

All this time, and he still can’t read her eyes. 

“You’ll be in Storm’s End,” she responds firmly, “You’ll be being the best Lord you can be. And you’ll have people to help you.”

His eyes drop down straight to the floor. Arya reaches her hand up and touches his shoulder. 

“When I come back to Westeros, whenever that is, it will be my first stop. I’ll see what you’ve become with my own eyes.”

Gendry springs back to life, a rather dim-witted smile sprouting on his face. He turns to kiss her once. 

Arya’s eyes suddenly turn shy. 

“I’m not saying you have to...wait for me or anything, I know your advisors will tell you the importance of marriage for alliances…”

“Fuck my advisors then,” he replies hotly. 

He takes both of Arya’s hands and holds them to his chest. 

“How could I not wait for you?” he asks her quietly, “After everything we’ve been through...If there was even a chance?”

Arya brings their hands to her lips and kisses each of his knuckles.

“I should go,” she whispers, “Or Sansa will wonder where I am.”

She embraces him, and he tries so hard not to wince when she brushes against her scratch marks but can’t help himself. 

“‘M sorry,” she says again, patting his collarbone instead. 

“I kind of like it,” Gendry admits, “It will be a memory that sticks around.”

She smiles shyly, and gets up to leave. 

Gendry hates how alone he feels in bed that night, but he supposes he will have to get used to it. 

In the morning, while dressing, he finds the black leather doublet. He runs one finger over the thin scratch marks on the shoulders. 

If everyone can’t see the ones on his skin, at least they will see these.


	10. Day 10: Nipple Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the mid-point of Maiden of the Sea

It was morning, and no one had come from the nursery to retrieve them. Yet. 

Dealing with one new infant would have been hard enough. Two was an entirely different story. Some days Arya felt like there was no energy left inside her for anything at all. So as hard as it was to move Lyra and Lysa from their chambers to the nursery when they began to sleep through the night, she realized she needed it, to maintain her sanity.

“Five minutes,” Gendry mumbles, his face in her hair, hands reaching for a greedy squeeze of her rear, “That’s all I ask for.”

Arya rolls to face him, lips seeking out his jaw. Gendry’s stubble is longer than he usually keeps it, he’s been trying so hard to take some of the stress off of her, that has resulted in them both being completely wiped out.

Arya runs a line of kisses down his throat, onto his chest. Her hand reaches up to caress his muscles, play with his chest hair. 

She runs one finger around his wide, flat brown nipple. She’s incredibly jealous of them. Thanks to the twins, hers were both dry and cracked and she had warned Gendry to not even think about touching them. No matter how much they missed the touch of anyone who is not a hungry baby. 

Gendry hums at her touch, and she grins wickedly. She runs the pad of her finger over it, feeling it pucker. She knew Gendry liked having his nipples touched, but she never really gave it much attention. She wasn’t entirely sure why men even had nipples, whereas she’d had a crash course these last few moons into the real reason for hers’ existence, no matter how good they felt being touched and kissed.

Bringing her other hand up, she reaches out and softly pinches the other. 

“You like that?”

Gendry lets out a strangled groan. Grinning again, Arya lowers her face to his chest, and licks the nipple, running a circle around and then the flat of her tongue over the pointed center, the same way she liked. 

She feels his cock twitch against her belly. With a shock, she realizes how hard he’s become. 

Arya raises an eyebrow. 

“That much?”

Gendry nods silently. 

She switches sides, lavishing attention to the other one while her fingertips sooth the first. She likes that he likes this, something she can do for him much the same as he does for her, that they can delight in mutual understanding. Gendry’s hips begin to move, he’s begun to rut against her stomach. 

Arya briefly pulls back, and uses both hands to roll both points between her fingers, and is rewarded with an extra long groan. She presses her belly downward, to give him a little extra friction, and returns her lips to this chest.

She places one nipple between her lips and begins sucking in earnest, harder than she might, but he’s responding so well to this. How many men would even think to ask?

And several minutes of this, of firmly sucking, switching sides, while he rubs himself against her, she is well rewarded, by the feeling of his cock twitching and pulsing and spilling his seed messily against her stomach. 

(She secretly loves this, the feeling and sight of his seed on her skin, proof that she’s made him feel that good. But she would never tell him)

Arya raises herself back up to kiss and nuzzle him. Gendry’s eyes are wide. 

“Gods,” he admits, “I didn’t know I could do that.”

But they don’t get a chance to bask. Gendry doesn't even get a chance to try and return the favor. Barely a few seconds later, a knock comes on their chamber door, summoning them to the day.


	11. Day 11: Clothes on, from behind

It seems to happen every time they do this somewhere they shouldn’t. 

When they’re in their chambers, in bed, in the morning or at night, or when they slip back upstairs, Arya will jump on top of him, or lay down and pull him to her. Sometimes, they’ll nestle together like spoons. Once in a while, they’ll stand together, Gendry supporting her legs while they move.

But outside of their bed?

Whether they’re having a quickie in their solar between reading boring reports, or one of them is pulling the other into an empty storeroom in the middle of the day, or sneaking away into an empty stairwell during a feast. Whatever it was, it always seemed to end with Arya turning away from him and presenting him with her backside to take her from behind. 

Like today. Gendry had stopped by to watch her finish up training some of the new recruits. Watching her train always did things to him, watching her move the way she did, her muscles stretching and contracting under her clothes, sweat blooming on her skin, his cock thickening and making him shift trying to relieve the pressure. No one else appreciated the strength of her small form the way he did. When she was finished, he coughs. 

“Milady,” he begins, to a dangerously raised eyebrow from her, “Can I borrow you for a few minutes before dinner begins.”

She seems to understand, and follows him. 

There’s an empty storeroom whose door he presses her back against as he kisses her roughly, before slipping open the door. There’s a tiny window behind one shelf, letting in a tiny bit of light, just enough for him to see without squinting. It’s full of dusty, dangerously unstable shelves that neither of them could push each other up against without a calamity. Not that they would need them, he thought. His theory is soon proved. He’s already rock hard, and it only takes a few minutes of kissing her messily, running his hands up and down, squeezing her rump through her leathers, and plundering her ears and throat and collarbone with his tongue, before she hums and turns to get on her knees. Arya unlaces her breeches and pushes them to her knees before looking back at him over her shoulder as he fumbles with his own laces.

It’s not that it bothers him, Gendry thinks as he pulls his cock free. The extra tight fit is always appreciated, and the position makes it easy to give her bum a few firm smacks if she needs help getting going.

He groans as his blunt tip pushes in. No need for that today, she’s plenty wet already. Sometimes he wonders what’s going on in Arya’s mind during the day to get her into such a state. 

Arya sighs and pushes her arse back against him. He wishes they had time for her to take off her tunic, the view of the wide expanse of her naked back, arched like a cat in heat, ending in the dimples of her arse is deeply underrated. But they will be late for dinner, so he holds her hips tight and takes her hard and fast. 

(His cock can get into her straight to the balls like this, and he can see her taking every inch)

It’s scarcely a few minutes before Arya’s cries quicken, one of her hands comes up to rub at her nub and she peaks, and Gendry soon follows. 

Still breathing heavy, mind fuzzy, Gendry asks. 

“How come you never want me to take you from behind when we’re in bed?”

Arya chortles as she stands. She pulls her breeches part way up her thighs, but doesn’t lace them yet. 

“You take me from behind all the time, I’m just laying on my side. If we’re in bed, I’m going to be comfortable.”

Gendry’s confused. 

“Are you...uncomfortable like this?”

She snorts again. 

“We snuck off in the middle of the day to fuck in a storeroom. I’ve got my tunic on and my naked arse hanging out of my breeches.”

Her face turns to a frown, Gendry can see even in the darkness.

“Don’t you like doing it like this?”

His lip quirks upward, and he kisses her cheek. 

“I do," he just wonders though, "But sometimes I miss getting to see your-”

“My tits?” she snorts. 

“Your face,” he insists. Then pauses, “Yes, also your tits.”

He places his hands on the front of her tunic, to rub them gently. They must feel neglected. 

“If I want you enough to fuck you in the middle of the day,” Arya says, her eyes falling shut at his touch, “Then I don’t care about comfortable, I just want you to take me like a wild animal." Snorts softly, "Like a bull, or a wolf. And it’s not like we have room for me to put my ankles on your shoulders, or to kneel over your face. This whole situation is sneaky and filthy, so our coupling should be the same.”

She says this as her hands gently tuck his cock back into his small clothes. Her grin is impish, flirty. Suddenly, Gendry doesn’t care about dinner anymore. 

When she moves to pull her breeches back up, he reaches out and grabs her wrist. 

“Who says we’re done? Back on your knees, bend back over.”

Her face is surprised, genuinely, at the firmness in his voice, and she obeys. 

He kneels down as well, there’s very little room, but he makes do. Hands resting on her moon-pale cheeks, he examines her freshly fucked cunt. He says still for a moment, feeling her quiver in anticipation. There’s a few stray drops of his seed on her, from where it dripped down her thighs. 

So he licks it off. She groans in surprise. Then Gendry runs his tongue between her engorged lips, presses his whole mouth against her, feeling her wetness against his face. 

If she wants filthy, he can surely satisfy that. 

They are late for dinner.


	12. Day 12: Letter sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a medieval interpretation of phone sex!

Gendry hated seeing the ship leave Weeping Town. But Arya hadn’t been home in years, and the girls deserve to see the North, deserve to see the land their mother came from. 

That doesn’t stop Gendry from missing them, missing them so desperately that it feels like there’s a hole in his chest. 

For a few days he mopes, for a few more he broods. After that, he writes her letters. 

_I can’t sleep half the time, the bed feels empty without you._

_One of Connington’s men showed up again and you weren’t there to tell him off so now I’m stuck with him for three more days._

_The pillow still smells like you._

_Poor Ely is wandering around with nothing to do. I tried to tell her to go into the village and find her baker and do wedding planning, but she says that’s still too far off and makes her want to cry._

_Is it weird if I get myself off while holding some of your clothes? I don’t care, even if it is, it barely works. My hands are too huge and clumsy now. I can’t believe your Septa told you you had blacksmith hands._

_I miss your hands. And your mouth, and your skin and your face and all of you. I miss waking up with your face all smushed up in my neck. I miss you so much I would even try to suck my own cock, but Tim says even if your back is flexible enough to do it, it’s more like sucking cock than getting your cock sucked (which he is generally not opposed to, but wasn’t what he was going for)_

He doesn’t think it’s normal to put all of these in one letter, but he finds a way. 

Thankfully, a week and a half since the group’s departure by sea, he discovers Arya feels much the same as he does.

_I do not recommend sharing a cot with two seven year old girls. I don’t know how you dealt with sleeping next to me all those years ago, and I was only the equivalent of maybe one and a half of this lot. All elbows and knees they are._

_Stuff up a bunch of my stuff under the blankets and cuddle that instead of me, it sort of works._

_Also, no touching yourself at all I say! I can’t do it, so why should you get to? With Lyra and Lysa here I don’t even get to take a piss by myself anymore…_

_Tell Ely she should go see her parents, I’m sure they miss her._

There’s a week between when Gendry receives her raven and when he sends the next. The next is a Winterfell raven, so he hopes it’s not too far ahead. 

_I tried the pillow thing. It was comfortable, but it still smelled like your hair and I think that made things worse._

_Your suggestion was a good one, but Ely declined. She says going home without the twins ends with her getting roped into working instead of being treated as a guest. I told her she could take the twins to play with her siblings when you return. That will give us some time to ourselves too._

_Also, you’re not the boss of me, you’re half a kingdom away! My cock and old lefty are getting really familiar with each other again, besides I’m sure you don’t want to come home and find it all shriveled up and useless from want._

_How are the girls adjusting to the North? Are they as miserable as I was? I would ask how Sansa is, but I don’t imagine it’s too good. Any word from Jon?_

There’s a much longer wait before Arya’s response, so Gendry suspects he must have been right and the letter arrived to Winterfell before she did. 

He spends his days in a number of ways. Sometimes he sits with Ely, who is less illiterate that he once had been, but wants to practice more, even just so she knows more stories. Sometimes he sits with Mollie when she’s doing her sewing, and plays games with Tris. Sometimes at the end of the day, he goes with Daron and Tim to have a drink in the village. It seems Arya has succeeded in her years long goal; she has forced him to make friends and be more social. 

One of these days, he spends a day working in the forge, and he goes the whole day without a child interrupting his work. 

Arya’s next letter comes.

_Lysa has your thin Southern blood it seems. She was cold the whole ride to Winterfell. Lyra didn’t say a word, but you never know with her if that means she has no complaints or she just doesn’t want to say anything._

_It’s been better since we’ve arrived. The pipes carrying the hot water have all been repaired, so the castle is lovely and warm. Both girls spend their days running around and I can trust in their safety._

_It’s so strange, being here with Sansa. The buildings don’t look the same, though nearly everything has been repaired. Sansa too, I see lines around her eyes, and I remember we’re both nearly thirty and I just can’t believe it._

_Hardly any word from Jon. Sansa’s muttering about getting married again, to have a Stark heir. Much like me, watching Lyra and Lysa, she can’t bear the thought of separating them._

_On to more pleasant topics, as I have been completely untouched these past few weeks with no time to myself, please tell me, in great detail, what you are going to do to me when we’re home. We’re leaving in only a week, it won’t be too long._

Gendry smirks. Arya’s words are heavy, he’s quite pleased to lighten her load. 

_I miss you so much I’m almost tempted to tie you to the headboard and not let you leave for three days, but given I don’t fancy bedding a sleeping woman, I think I will let you remain free._

_I’ll start at your face and kiss your lips swollen. I don’t even think I’ll bother taking your clothes off, just shove your tunic up and your breeches down. I’d like to suck on your tits while I fill you with my fingers, you always love that. I’d like to make you come like that at least once, and then maybe with my mouth too, before I fuck you proper. Leave you all soft and limp like you always get when we go at it like rabbits. Two or three orgasms and you should have a good night’s sleep and we can start again in the morning._

Arya responds. 

_Oi! Just because I fell asleep when you tied me up that one time doesn’t mean I always will! Not that it matters, I’ve got plans for you that I can’t do if I’m tied._

_I’m so hard up, I think I might just knock you down and have you on the floor. You can do the finger bit afterwards (you’re right, having my tits sucked at the same time is nice). That will probably be enough to get you hard again, and I’ll have you again on the bed. I might be sated enough afterwards that you can have at me however you like. Forget sleep, I’d really like to just go at it for a whole night. Maybe if you fall asleep, I’ll wake you up by sitting across your face._

_I mean, that’s if we make it to our chambers at all. The hallway has possibilities too._

She doesn’t tell him that planning this out was enough for her to get herself off, quick and dirty, in the newly stuffed featherbed in the room that was once her childhood bedchamber. 

Before she sends the raven in the morning, she signs one last line. 

_I can’t wait._


	13. Day 13: Pregnant Sex

Gendry had never really thought he would be a father. He had hardly even believed any girl would ever be willing to marry him, let alone have a child with him. He had been proven wrong in the best way possible. 

And watching Arya grow more and more with their child had done things to him that he hadn’t expected. 

Her tits had gotten rounder first, which he had noticed with ease, and they grew far more sensitive. That was nice of course. He’s already thought she was gorgeous, but this somehow made her...more

When her belly had begun to swell, it had been nice too. Gendry likes there being more of Arya in his arms, when he embraces or kisses her in public. Which he loves to do, even when he knows it sometimes embarrasses her. Especially when it embarrasses her, she gets all cute and red when he kisses her neck and tries to sneak a squeeze. Arya had batted his hands away once, saying she was the size of a whale. He couldn’t explain the draw. 

It wasn’t just how she looked either. Her whole persona entranced him like this. It was a little the way her skin smelled, a little in the way she sort of glowed. Sometimes he catches her hands lingering over her stomach and the rush of possessiveness is stronger than anything he’d ever felt. She had an aura he couldn’t describe, and it was intoxicating.. 

Which turned out to be a good thing, because Arya’s pregnancy had indeed made her aroused nearly all the time. 

And he is only happy to indulge her. 

“I miss being on top,” she said, while he untied and peeled off her smallclothes, leaving her bare.

Gendry smiles. He had been sad too, but her tits were so sensitive now that riding him made her terribly uncomfortable. She no longer wanted to be on her hands and knees either, saying that the loose feel of her abdomen distracted her too much. For now, this still worked. He was still standing, and once he had her naked, he pulled her to the edge of the bed.

He leaned over and ran his tongue over one sensitive nipple, and then gently blew air over it. 

“I’ll do my best to make it up to you.”

He pulls her knees wide apart, takes a moment to appreciate the view, and sets his fingers to work. She’s warm and wet soon enough, and when it feels like enough, he hoists her legs up high and pushes in.

This position still does it, but her stomach has enlarged enough that it’s begun to get in the way. He tries not to laugh watching it jiggle with his thrusts, but is nearly failing. Thankfully, Arya seems to agree, giggles escaping between her moans and sighs. These arouse him even more, the moans, sighs and giggles all, and he leans forward to touch her forehead with his as she speeds up and fucks her faster. 

Gendry feels his orgasm building, when Arya pulls herself partially upright. 

“Can we switch positions?" she touches her belly, "This is distracting.”

“How do you want me?” Gendry asks, breathing deep and biting his lip at the loss of sensation as he withdraws.

Arya grabs a pillow and holds it to her front, supporting her stomach. Then she pats the coverlet. 

“Get up here behind me.”

Gendry helps her raise her thigh and enters her again. Oh, this is a nice one, he thought, especially as ripe as Arya’s pregnant body is. Gendry’s pleased of his height as he finds he can reach all of her with ease, her nipples, her nub, he can kiss her cheek or her throat. He can use his hands to stroke her belly as he thrusts. 

When Arya’s breathing begins to catch and speed up as she gets closer to her orgasm, Gendry pushes one of her thighs forward so he can get better leverage, and doubles down. He thrusts faster as she pants faster, and by the time she begins to gasp and flutter, all Gendry can do is squeeze her thigh and grunt as he spills.

He’s cuddled up behind her and she tilts her head back to kiss him, long and hard, then she mutters. 

“So, what do you think, ten more minutes until you can go again?”

“You’re going to wear me out woman,” he says, panting. 

Arya shrugs. 

“Get while the gettings good I say. Everyone I talk to says you’re not even going to want to look at me down there for at least a couple months afterwards.”

Gendry gathers her up in his arms. 

“I don’t think that will ever happen.”

He feels her smile against his face. 

“I mean, maybe I’ll have to find a bag to put over my head so I don’t have to look, but I’m sure I could power through.”


	14. Day 14: Strength/muscle kink

Arya loved Gendry’s muscles. She’d always known this. Watching him sweat and work in the forge at Harrenhal had been the first time she had felt the stirrings of what she later recognized as want. It had been the first image that lingered with her in the warm, sticky dreams that ended with her hand twisting through her shift in between her legs in the middle of the night. It had been a pleasant reprieve from what the rest of her life had become.

And all these years later, it was no different. 

One of the guards had heard that their Lord had forged a large range of the weapons used in the Long Night, and had asked if he could come out and show them some in action. 

Arya was never one to be shown up though. 

They had long since passed the point where Gendry wouldn’t spar with her, would refuse out of fear of hurting her. They could swing and move and dance around each other and never even leave a scratch. 

Arya was proud after. Proud, and horny. 

They barely get inside their chambers that night before Arya pushes him against the door and kisses him. 

“Hmm,” she says between breaths, as she begins to untie his leather jerkin and push it off his shoulders. She’s greeted by the lovely smooth, hard, planes of his chest, “I love your muscles. I love how strong you are.”

Gendry smirks. She both loves and hates that smirk. He lifts her tunic and pulls it over her head. He’s still smirking when she’s unlacing and pushing off her breeches, and she’s trying to figure out where this is all going. She reaches to unlace him. She’s just barely gotten him loose, when Gendry grabs her around the waist and lifts her. 

“Oh!” Arya yelps, wrapping her arms around his neck, legs dangling. She’d never let on how much she enjoyed being picked up.

“Hold on,” Gendry tells her. In a few seconds, Arya manages to get her legs behind his back, locking her ankles as well as she can.

It takes some doing, but Gendry manages to shift enough that he can take his cock in one hand and slip inside her while she’s holding on.

Gendry moves his hands to both sides of her bum, squeezing and holding as he begins to pump himself in and out of her. The angle’s a challenge, but he huffs and heaves and keeps at it, the lines in his face straining. 

Arya can just picture his shoulders, pulling and flexing as he thrusts. Her arms and thighs burn as she holds on tight against his pounding cock, but it’s a good burn. 

“You can hold on,” Gendry whispers to her, “I know you can,” he ducks his head and presses a kiss against her straining bicep, “You’re strong too, you’re holding on to me tight.”

His hands squeeze her bum. 

“Even your arse has muscles. You might not think I see it, those fine little lines stretching and working under your skin, when you water dance, or when you train. Or when you fuck me.”

Emboldened, Arya squeezes all the muscles in her groin. clamping them down onto his cock. She is rewarded. 

Gendry groans, almost feral, “Fuck, yes…” and begins an even more punishing pace. Despite the strain on her limbs, Arya’s pleasure is also getting the better of her, her breaths coming shallower and more high-pitched. 

Gendry groans again, moving one hand from her bum. He moves his other hand to support her whole backside as the first hand sneaks around, and rubs at her nub as he pistons away, Arya’s moans rising and turning to a wail as she comes. 

Even panting and coming down, she tries to stay squeezed tight, to help Gendry fall over into his own orgasm. 

When she tries to get down, her legs feel like jelly, and she almost stumbles.

“That was incredible,” she says. 

Gendry grins, and then stands up straight, and suddenly jerks and rubs his back. 

“It was. But boy, I think we’re going to regret it in the morning.”


	15. Day 15: Shower sex (Medieval style)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another case of kink!fail in this chapter

Storm’s End didn’t have the underground hot springs like Winterfell did. 

It did have some nice bits that normal dwellings might not though. 

Arya had been expecting taking baths out of a basin hauled up stairs again, but the castle had its own bath. A room on the ground floor, fitted with a good sized copper tub in stone fittings. A pipe on one side of the room filled the tub from a well with a hand pump. It took some time to fill, but there was even a flint that could be lit to heat the water as the tub was filling. The whole setup didn’t require a servant to haul water, or even be present.

It wasn’t a hot spring, but it wasn’t nothing. 

So when Gendry invited her to join him one evening, it was a no-brainer. 

Arya had been to public baths in Braavos, but she knew there were bath houses and there were bath houses. The idea had long intrigued her. 

And as they stripped and got into the water, kissing and touching and giggling, it seemed like an incredible idea.

It was warm and steamy in the tub. Their skin was warm and slick, sliding against each other with each movement. When she felt ready, Arya straddles Gendry, and lowers herself down onto his cock.

She groans and bites her lip at the sensation, and in the steam, it’s wonderful. 

Then she starts to move, and the trouble starts. 

The tub is curved on the bottom, and with every thrust, Arya feels slightly off center, like she’s slipping. She tries to brace her hands on the edge, but the metal is warm and her fingers still slip.

And her skin feels almost too hot, and it’s hard to feel anything but that, even the cock that’s inside of her. 

And also…

“Are you alright?” Gendry asks, looking concerned. When Arya meets his eyes, quizzically, he clarifies.

“You feel sort of...dry.”

He’s right. She hadn’t started off that way, but the movements she’s been able to make have been getting far more uncomfortable than usual. Arya winces, and lifts herself up and off of him, her cunt burning from the friction. Then, with a realization, 

“It’s the water, it must be washing it away.”

She pouts. This had sounded so fun, now she was sore and they were both unsatisfied. 

Gendry notes her face and kisses her softly. With his lips still on hers, he reaches for the lump of soap and the rag. While they kiss and nuzzle each other, Gendry soaps her up, running the suds up and down her skin, making her warm and clean. He soaps up her chest, playing with her nipples, and then the flat of her belly (teasingly low, but not low enough) and the smooth expanse of her back. He cleans up and down both legs, and then rinses the soap from the rag and gently rubs it between them. For much longer than is probably necessary. 

Gendry’s eyes are shut, drifted close from the warmth and slowness. 

“Climb up on the stone,” he mumbles in her ear. Arya does so without thinking. Though the air is steamy, she still yelps a bit when the air hits her nipples, and covers them when she feels them go hard from the chill. 

“Noooo,” Gendry whines when she covers her tits, and she sticks her tongue out at him. He recovers quickly though, placing both hands on her thighs. 

“Know what’s absolutely incredible right out of the bath?” he asks with an eyebrow waggle.

He doesn’t say anything else, but he parts her thighs and runs his tongue over her center again and again, making her as wet and hot as she started off, and chasing the bliss she was robbed of earlier. 

Freshly bathed and water warmed cunt, is apparently his answer, Arya thinks with a satisfied grin.


	16. Day 16: Lingerie

“I can’t believe Sansa thought I would wear these.”

She’s holding up a pair of yellow silk smallclothes, edged at the top and legs in delicate black embroidery, meant to resemble lace. 

“They were a gift, and they’re the Baratheon colors,” Gendry tells her. “You should at least wear them once.”

Arya holds them up to herself.

“They look too big too. Maybe Sansa thinks having two babes has made me spread outwards permanently.”

“Well maybe I should wear them instead.”

Arya looks at him with her head tilted. He’s kidding. He thinks.

“You could,” she counters, “No one would know, but you and me.”

Then she throws them at him. He folds them, and tucks them away without another thought. 

He finds them again a few days later, and examines them.

“So are you going to wear them?” Arya questions, “If they’re too big for me, they might just fit over your bullish arse.”

And with nary a thought, he tries them on. 

They’re snug, likely snugger than they’re supposed to be judging by the ways the ties are pulled, but he gets them on easily enough. 

He’s never really given smallclothes much thought. Size aside, him and Arya’s looked much the same, plain linen with side ties that ended mid-thigh. Arya has a couple pairs made of plain silk, but she only wears them on fancy occasions.

Wearing these, feels different, he thinks while pulling his breeches on over them. A quick glance in the looking glass reveals Arya to be correct. No one would be able to tell. 

That’s what he tells himself as he goes about his day. 

It’s hard though. The silk fabric is soft and smooth against his skin, so every time he gets up and moves, he can feel it. The silk, rubbing against his cock, pulled smooth against his balls.

It comes to a head when he has to step into the privy mid-morning. When rustling with his laces, he realizes what the silk reminds him of. Skin, smooth, soft skin. As his stupid brain fills in, Arya’s skin.

For the rest of the day, his cock is at half mast. Every little movement, every little brush of the silk, and he feels the blood rush south, and his thoughts wander to skin, all the while his cock throbs and swells, tenting the fancy smallclothes that were never meant to have a cock in them.

It’s ungodly irritating, but it’s also....nice. 

When he’s undressing at night, he notes Arya’s eyes on him, watching every movement. 

“How was it?” she asks, “Wearing a lady’s smallclothes?”

Gendry laughs. They’d gone over this before. Arya insists that the trousers she wore weren’t men's, they were hers. They were made for her after all. Gendry knows these weren’t made for him, but they fit him and he wore them first.

“I’ve been half-hard all day,” he admits, “Silk’s been rubbing up against me, making me think of rubbing up against other things.”

He’s already got his shirt and jerkin off. He meets Arya’s eyes as he unlaces his breeches. He pushes them down, but leaves the small clothes in place. With a glance, he realizes how obscene it looks, his cock swollen and hard, bulging against the delicate fabric.

Gendry leans back against the bed, and Arya approaches him with a lustful gaze. 

She leans over to kiss him once, then leans back and unbuttons her shirt. Slowly. So slowly. Gendry can feel his cock get even harder, and start leaking against the fine fabric. 

She slides it off her shoulders, and Gendry scoots back on the bed. Arya climbs up to join him. She leans over to kiss him again, and it feels like how things might normally begin. However, instead of Arya’s hand wandering into his smallclothes or untying them to push them off, she cups him through them. 

Gendry moans. The silk holds the heat of Arya’s small hand very well, and as she rubs him through it, it feels amazing. He was only half hard before, now he could probably beat steel in the forge with his cock.

“You like that?” Arya asks with a smirk, “Me jerking you off through your fancy silk smallclothes?”

Yes, yes he does. Very much. Then Arya leans forward and starts mouthing him through them too. She must like the feel of him through the fabric too, Gendry realizes. His moans become rapid and strained. He wants her mouth on his cock, but he wants the silk to stay too. He can see a wet spot forming on the sheen, a filthy stain on something so fine, and it makes him moan even harder. 

When his face begins to shine with sweat, Arya pulls back. Instead of just rubbing him, she gathers the fabric around his cock and begins to stroke him rapidly with it, squeezing firmly. 

Gendry’s going to lose his mind, he knows it. All he can do is pant and moan under her hands. 

“I’m gonna-” is all he can get out. He finds he quite likes the idea of his spill staining the fabric, but at his word, Arya finally slides them down, freeing cock to the open air, and just managing to get her hands back around it and begin working it when Gendry shudders and empties himself. 

Gendry rolls on his side as he comes down. Arya tucks his cock back in, stretches up beside him and moves a hand to begin rubbing his bum through the fabric. That feels nice too. 

“We have some black silk leftover from our stash of Renly’s old clothes,” she tells him, “I could get Mollie to make you some fancy ones of your own.”

Gendry scoffs. 

“What would people say?”

“You’re a lord now,” Arya tells him with a smirk, “Even if anyone finds out, they might just call you eccentric. I mean, Prince Rhaegar had armor covered in rubies so thick they flew everywhere when it was broken. It would hardly be the strangest extravagance tolerated by the smallfolk. I mean, look at your uncle, and he was well loved here.”

Gendry thinks for a long moment. 

“You should wear yours more often too.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I’m thinking right now about rubbing myself up against your cunt with just silk between us.”

He pauses, while Arya hums pleasantly at the thought. Pleased with the look on her face, Gendry sneaks his face over to slip his tongue in the ridge at the top of her ear, making her yelp in surprise.

“Does it distract you as badly as it does me?”


	17. Day 17: Having to be quiet

Maester Elric had given them the OK to begin making love again two moons after Arya had given birth to the twins. 

It’s nearly four before they can manage it. 

Part of it’s Arya. It takes some time for her to feel at all like herself again. Gendry caught her one day with her shift up next to her looking glass, practically crying, saying it looked like she had tried to bed a pile of knives. 

But most of it’s the sudden appearance of two infant humans in their lives. 

“Is Lysa finally out?” Arya asks, through her heavy lidded eyes. Lysa had been fussing and squalling and straight out refusing to entertain sleep no matter how much Gendry rocked her. 

Lyra, on the other hand, only fussed a bit before rolling over and staring. Getting her to sleep was easier, sometimes. Unless she had just decided to be stubborn, staring quietly with only the occasional wiggle to show she was awake. Arya had just managed to get Lyra sleeping and back in the cradle a minute before, and now they were waiting on Lysa. 

When Gendry finally stands, carefully, Arya’s heart soared. They had both of them asleep, at the same time. 

Her and Gendry both have bags under their eyes. They could just go to sleep. They only have two, maybe three hours until the girls will need to nurse again and Arya will have to wake back up. 

But they’ve talked about this, and they miss each other desperately. 

With the understanding that they must be perfectly quiet. 

They strip down to nothing in complete silence, and even quiet their fall back onto their bed.

They had even debated this, deciding what position would be best. On the bed, they lay flat and roll to face each other, Arya throwing one leg over Gendry’s hip. Despite the intimacy of doing it like this, pressed so close and face to face, it wasn’t the best for getting the good, deep, penetration they both craved. 

But they had to keep their voices down, and like this, they could help muffle each other. It was probably for the best, Arya thought. If Gendry took her fast and hard, there was no way she could keep herself quiet.

Gendry runs his fingers all over her, rediscovering her breasts and belly with a gleeful grin. Arya covers his shoulders and chest with kisses while he rubs between her thighs until his fingers come away covered in her slick.

With another grin, Gendry hoists her leg higher, and pushes into her. Arya already feels a moan trying to claw out of her throat, and seeks out his own mouth in hopes he could help her swallow it. 

As Gendry thrusts into her, Arya feels his nails raking at her back, and knows he’s holding back too. It’s been too goddamn long. She clings to him, pressing her lips into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent and letting his skin absorb her cries of pleasure. 

Too quickly, Gendry’s movements grow erratic and Arya feels her breath puffing rapidly against her skin. She reaches, arching her back and pulling him to her as he falls over the edge.

He pulls out with her still wound up, but his fingers have learned her far too well and four moons is not enough for him to forget. She’s missed this, missed them, missed how well they knew each other both in and out of this bed.

When they come down, they stay entwined, kissing gently and grinning stupidly. Arya’s head is drooping, and she wants to rest it on his shoulder but can’t stop herself from staring into his blue eyes like an idiot. 

It’s the hormones, she swears. That’s the reason she can match her husband for being a lovesick idiot. 

But overwhelmed by peace, Arya lays her head on his shoulder and shuts her eyes. 

Seemingly a microsecond later, a cry breaks into the silence.


	18. Day 18: Food Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also contains kink failure

It had certainly sounded sexy when Arya had suggested it. 

“I want to pour honey all over you and lick every bit of it off.”

When her name-day had come she had appeared in their chambers with a jar of honey and a huge grin. Gendry had melted, and said yes almost immediately. 

They’re both naked and Gendry is laying back on the bed, Arya straddling him, swirling the spoon inside the jar. 

She pulls out the spoon, and drips the first bit of honey on his lips. She then kisses it off, slipping her tongue alongside his, and Gendry feels the little sparks that come with arousal burning early. 

The next bit she drizzles on his chin, and he sighs, enjoying her lips leisurely removing it. His chin still feels sticky afterwards. 

She drizzles more down his chest, making sure to cover both his nipples. The pleasure from her sucking them clean is marred by the sticky feeling lingering in the hair on his chest.

Arya continues to mark her delicious path down to his cock, which is still clinging to life despite his discomfort. 

Instead of just drizzling the honey on his cock though, she completely drenches it, it drips onto his balls and off, onto the folded sheet she’d put underneath him.

She slides her mouth over it, and for the first time in his life, Gendry finds himself having a hard time holding his erection while Arya’s sucking on it. 

(Gods, it looks obscenely wonderful, the thick golden liquid smeared over her lips while she takes him in her mouth, but the sticky, tacky, dripping is too much, even her lips aren’t gliding smoothly like they normally would)

Arya moves to slowly suck the honey from his balls as well. 

(He can feel the hairs being pulled by the sticky honey. His balls are sweltering and he swears he can feel the bits in his chest hair crystalizing, oh gods will he ever be able to get it out?)

He feels Arya pause.

“You’re...starting to go soft.”

Gendry squeezes his eyes shut. The crystalized bits are getting worse, and he can feel her saliva on them too- that really should be hot, but it’s not.

“Give me a minute, I can get it back.”

Arya sighs, and licks the remaining honey off her hands, and then goes searching for a rag. 

“This isn’t doing anything for you is it?”

Gendry sighs, reaching out to rub the back of her head. 

“Sorry. It sounded good, but the reality is sticky and gross. Give me a few minutes, I can get hard enough for you to keep going.”

“No,” Arya says with a fond smile, getting up to retrieve the washbasin, “If you’re not having fun, I’m not.”

Gendry still feels a little saddened when she washes the remaining honey off of him, leaving the rag to soak in the basin. When she returns to lay beside him on bed, Gendry grabs the spoon from the jar that still lay on the bedside table. He dabs a bit more honey on his lips and moves to kiss her. 

“On the lips was nice though,” he whispers to her, having no intention of letting her completely let go of her fun name-day. 

They kiss like that for a while, slow and languid, tongues lazily tasting each other and the lingering of the honey. 

When Gendry begins to stir again, he pats the sides of her hips. 

“Now get up here,” he tells her, giving them a tug. 

“What have you got in mind?” Arya asks, as she crawls up his body. 

“Well it’s your name-day, and I still haven’t pleased you,” he helps her arrange her knees by his ears, “And I happen to know where you’ve got the best-tasting honey.”

He gives her a long lick wide open, and he can feel the vibration when Arya lets out a powerful belly laugh as she kneels over his willing mouth.

(He still feels like he’s cleaning honey out from under his foreskin for a week).


	19. Day 19: Morning Sex

Arya wakes up to the pounding of rainfall and the gentle onslaught of Gendry kissing her neck.

Arya hums, and nestles herself back against him. She’s told him before, kiss and touch her all he wants when she’s asleep, but try to make sure she’s awake before he fucks her.

Mornings in Storm’s End are Arya’s favorite part of living here. She loves the stormy skies and the swollen sea, waves crashing even on clear days. She loves waking up with Gendry in possibly the only moment in their day when no one has any demands to put on them.

And she loves being woken up like this.

When she begins to murmur, Gendry continues his assault. Arya would have never thought a person’s neck was so sensitive, but barely awake, she can already feel herself coming awake down south. 

In a smooth motion, Gendry pushes down the braies he sleeps in and raises Arya’s shift and lifts her thigh. Arya bites her lip when he enters her, hard and deep just as there’s a crack of thunder outside their window. 

As the storm rages, Gendry keeps ahold of her thigh, thrusting into her just right, left hand snaking up and under her shoulder to fondle a tit. Arya thinks this might just be her favorite position. Some of the extra tightness and pleasure of being taken from behind with him still being so close to her and his hands being able to touch pretty much everything. It’s only a shame she can’t kiss him easily like this, but they both have pretty horrible breath in the morning, so it’s not too much of a loss.

And this is by far her favorite way to be woken up, the storms and her husband’s affections. It’s almost as nice as waking up with his head between her legs.

Arya bends her leg and plants her foot on the bed, freeing Gendry’s hand.  
He takes the freedom and begins rubbing her nub in time with his thrusts.

Arya feels the telltale signs of her orgasm impending, the heat pooling and muscles fluttering. Gendry’s thrusts and becoming more erratic, and Arya feels him nibbling at her shoulders and then- 

And then she hears the telltale signs of little footsteps outside their door. 

She just manages to grunt out a, “fucking hell.”

Arya feels her orgasm speed through her, just out of her reach as she jolts herself forward, and pulls her shift back over his hips. Gendry catches on fast, stuffing himself back into his braies, even as his cock begins to leak. 

Thankfully, they’ve learned to keep the blanket on top of them for easy cover, even if that time it had just been a maid, who was old enough to find the situation sweet instead of traumatizing. 

This is not that time. 

This time, their door is thrown open and they are flung upon by a pair of small girls who resemble tornadoes. 

Lysa’s warbling about the thunder, and Arya wraps her in the blanket on top of her. Lyra merely clings to her father, silent, with tears streaming down her face. 

Arya spares a moment to glance over her shoulder and make eye contact with Gendry.

There will be other mornings.


	20. Day 20: Spanking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super mild TW this chapter for discussion of the unfun form of corporal punishment

It happens by accident the first time. 

They’re in bed, and Arya’s riding him like he’s a stallion and she’s headed into battle. She’s pounding downwards and Gendry’s undulating upwards, trying to meet her movements, and it’s all kinds of mismatched and haphazard. He figures that’s why the hand he meant to use to grip her hip instead lands across her bum with a loud “smack”. 

Arya yelps. 

“Sor-”

“Ohmygoddothatagain,”

He’s too far gone to even question. So he slaps her arse again. Arya groans, and clenches down on him, somehow managing to move even faster. 

He does it again, and again, listening to the loud smacks, eventually blending in with the gasps and grunts as Arya’s orgasm peaks, far quicker than usual. 

Afterwards, when Arya’s laying on her stomach Gendry notes her cheeks are both a little red. He rubs them gently with one hand. 

“You can kind of still see my hand print.”

“You can?” Arya sounds surprised, “It didn’t feel like you were doing it that hard.”

Good, he didn’t mean to do it hard.

“Does it-”

“It’s a little warm,” Arya says, pushing closer and nuzzling him, “It felt really good though.”

She’s quiet for a little while before continuing. 

“I told you, I saw lots of things in the brothels in Braavos. I knew some people enjoyed being...spanked in bed, but it never even occurred to me that I would.”

She turns her face upward to look at him. 

“Do you mind doing it?”

Gendry didn’t expect that. He’s never given it a single thought. He had some vague academic knowledge like Arya’s, but he’s never even considered it. Spanking was when his mother walloped his backside with a broomstick for being naughty.

“Well, I mean, as long as you don’t start crying because it brings back memories of getting in trouble when you were eight or something.”

“My parents didn’t do that.”

Gendry eyes open wide in surprise. 

“You didn’t get your arse swatted when you misbehaved? And don’t try and tell me you never misbehaved.”

Arya snorts. 

“I will have you know that highborn girls have very delicate bottoms. Septa Mordane slapped us on the face or the hands instead. Maester Luwin had a paddle too, with holes drilled in it, but I don’t think it was ever used on any of us, not even Theon. I didn’t like having it around though. I’m glad Ely says that both the twins respond well to being made to put their noses to the corner while everyone else is having fun instead.”

“Last week when they wouldn’t stop arguing, she tied them together back to back and made them stay like that until they stopped.”

Gendry is the one quiet now, rolling things over in his head. 

“Maybe next time you contradict me in front of one of my bannermen, I’ll take you over my knee.”

Arya makes a face. 

“I’m not even really sure the whole punishment bit is what does it for me...but being taken over your knee sounds fun, I’ll talk back as soon as possible.”

Gendry groans. He’s created a monster. 

It takes exactly two days. 

He can’t blame her. She never tries to make him look like a fool, but has a hard time keeping her words to herself. And gods, everything she said he wanted to say first, even if it briefly left him tongue tied in front of the men, red and unable to come up with a response. Dealing with Jon Connington was always a nightmare. 

But, Gendry was never someone to pass up an opportunity. 

When they reach their chambers after dinner, he tells Arya to bolt the door behind her. He’ll be damned if he explains this to anyone who barges in.

He crosses his arms. 

“Talking out of turn in front of your lord is very poor behavior for a lady.”

Arya raises an eyebrow. 

“Is it?”

“I think you need to be taught a lesson.” He sits down on the side of the bed and pats the coverlet beside him. 

Arya tries to look contrite, but she can’t stop the tiny thrilled look that passes over her eyes as she pads over and stretches herself over his lap.

Gendry loosens her laces enough to push her breeches down over her rear and partway down her thighs. He swallows, throat dry, at the sight of her pale, soft cheeks in his lap. He likes this part already. 

“How many do you think I need, milord?” Arya asks. She’s crossed her arms in front of her, to rest her chin on her forearms. 

Gendry runs his hand over her skin, debating. 

“We’ll see.”

Then he raises his hand and brings it down across her bum. There’s a crack, and a tiny yelp from Arya. 

He does it again, this time her yelp sounds more like a giggle.

He does it again, this time her yelp almost has a purr behind it. Gendry’s breathing shallows and he feels his cock stir. He already likes this.

He counts. Five firms slaps to her behind. He’s hypnotized by the red blush forming on her skin, the gentle jiggle of her cheeks with each spank. But mostly the heavy breathing and the increasingly satisfied sounds that are coming from Arya. Her yelps have morphed, now sounding almost like girlish squeals. 

Six. Crack. Seven. Crack. 

“Do you think I’ve learned my lesson, milord?”

She’s letting him decide, Gendry realizes. He knows she basically jumped into his lap and could roll off and stop it whenever she liked, but she’s leaving it up to him to tell if she’s had enough, and that gives him a rush. 

Three more spanks, he decides. Not as hard as earlier, but faster, delivered one after another, while Arya’s voice becomes breathier than he’s ever heard. On the last one, he realizes she’s arching her back a bit, her backside seeking his hand. 

Ten is a good round number, Gendry thinks, hand soothing her red bottom. He’d never hear the end of it if she couldn’t sit down at breakfast in the morning. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” Gendry says, hand still resting on her backside, “Of course, that depends on if your behavior changes.”

Arya’s still breathing heavy. 

“Seven hells, Gendry, I need…”

Gendry’s fingers slip between her thighs, shocked to find her absolutely soaking wet. She really did like this, he thinks. And if he hadn’t already figured out that he liked it, he knows he really does now. 

“What do you want?” he asks, voice hoarse. 

“You fingers,” she says, “deep, hard.”

“How many?”

“How many you got?”

Gendry doesn’t get to find out, with three fingers inside and his thumb rubbing her slippery nub, she comes with a howl in less than thirty seconds. 

While Arya’s coming down, she rolls onto her back and stretches. She pulls herself up and drapes herself over his lap, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. 

“So did you learn your lesson?” Gendry asks her. 

“Tell all those stuffy lords exactly what I think of them, because they really need to hear it and I get rewarded in the end?” Arya says, with a cheeky grin. 

She’s quiet for a moment, before saying. 

“It’s like a game,” she says, “That’s why I liked it so much. It’s like a game, and we both win.”

Her hand wanders down to his stiff cock in his breeches, and starts at undoing his laces. 

“It looks like you enjoyed your lesson as well. What do you want as your reward?”

“Hmm,” Gendry says. He is almost embarrassed at how hard this had made him, he’s about to burst. “Suck me off? It shouldn’t take long.”

Arya grins again, reaches down and pulls out his cock. 

“Asking your lady to put your cock in her mouth, how very inappropriate!”

She does it though, sucks him straight down. Gendry sighs and relishes the feeling of her soft mouth. 

And just as he feels his balls pull tight, Arya pops her mouth off and looks at him. 

“Perhaps in the future, milord, we will have to work on your behavior!”

She returns to her work and Gendry groans as he spills himself between her lips. 

She’s going to be the death of him. And he’s going to like it.


	21. Day 21: Masturbation

Eight or nine times out of ten, Arya likes taking the lead in bed. Likes being the one to send Gendry a flirty look, or untie her clothes and reach out for him. Likes being the one to kiss him first, to slide her hand under his shirt, untie his laces. He often lets her make the first move. Gendry waits to see what she wants. Arya loves that he’s so considerate, and whatever she chooses generally ends well for the both of them, so it works out.

But sometimes she just wants to be pounced on and have her brains fucked out. 

Thankfully, some time ago, she figured out the shortcut. 

She has very fond memories of the pink to Gendry’s ears when she’d told him how often she used to touch herself. The look of abject fascination. 

The shortcut to getting properly railed, it turns out, is to quietly lay on the bed, her shift raised up over her hips, and play with herself. 

It had been a long day, but Arya’s skin was humming. The day had been packed, first with guard training, then with petitions, then with helping Lysa go over her writing since she was struggling, and Arya was beat and knew just what she needed to put her bones to rest. She undressed quickly, feeling her blood quickening. She needed it hard and she needed it bad. 

Gendry’s off to the side, taking off his boots, going on about the new agreements with the orphanage down in Weeping Town, when Arya’s got her hand between her legs. She starts off pressing the heel of her hand against her, rubbing back and forth, the way she did first as a young girl. Once Gendry gets his boots off and moves on to his jerkin, she’s got her fingers between her lips, spreading them and spreading her wetness along herself. 

(There’s part of this Arya likes for herself too, likes putting on a show for him)

She slides a finger in herself, gets it all nice and wet. Runs it up and around her nub, feeling it get all slippery and delicious feeling. Rubs it faster, making her heart race.

She lets out a groan, and that gets Gendry’s attention. When he turns to watch her, she deliberately doesn’t look his way. She just rubs her nub faster, and slides two fingers into her now dripping cunt. 

“Like what you see?” she asks innocently, tilting her hips further up.

Gendry approaches her side of the bed, doesn’t even take his breeches off, just rucks them down his thighs. 

He spares her one kiss, then he pulls back. He pulls her fingers from her cunt, and sucks them clean.

Arya has the forethought to brace her other hand against the iron bars of the bedstead, because Gendry doesn’t give her any more time to prepare. He grips her thighs and shoves himself all the way in with one thrust. 

Soon both of Arya’s hands are gripping the iron, Gendry’s holding her legs high, over her shoulders, nearly folding her in half, plowing her so hard she can feel the pillow pushing against the bars of the bed frame and making them clank and creak. 

Their flesh slaps together while Gendry grunts and groans above her, holding her legs, his muscled body hovering over her as he pounds away.

Soon he takes her leg, rests it on his shoulder, and uses his free hand to grip one of hers and pin it where it is on the rails. 

With a smirk, Arya takes her now free hand, and reaches down to touch herself more, her clever fingers narrowing avoiding where their is flesh slapping together. 

Gendry’s eyes turn nearly black at this point, but he makes no movements to stop her. He does, however, angle himself higher over her and start pounding her cunt deeper and faster. Arya’s moans and sighs turn sharper, into whines and pleas, and as her orgasm builds, she nearly forgets her own name.

Part of Arya wishes she understood what it was about watching her touch herself that got him off so much. Is it that he assumes she’s thinking of him? Or is just the thought that she can’t help herself. 

Arya grins. Either way, she got what she wanted.


	22. Day 22: Voyeurism

Arya finds him in the forge. 

“Are you alright? You missed supper.”

Gendry looks up. 

“Do I need to get the girls off to bed?”

Arya shakes her head, sitting on his anvil, which is in disuse.

“No, I already got them settled. What are you working on so late?”

Gendry shows her the bottom of the cradle he was making for Meera. 

“I figure I should get it finished before she shows up here crowning.”

Arya nodded. 

“Bran says she keeps resisting leaving, but if she doesn’t soon, everyone will realize she’s showing.”

Gendry nods.

“Give me a few minutes, I’ll clean up for the night.”

Arya leans back, watching him. Watching his body moving in the low light and shadows.

“Whenever I used to imagine you were still alive, I would picture you here.”

“Oh yeah?” Gendry asks. It still amazes him that he’s moved so far past his roots. 

“Banging on steel, just like you always did before. Of course, sometimes at night, I would imagine you doing other things.”

Gendry holds her gaze. 

“I didn’t want to imagine you with other girls, so you were usually by yourself, breeches open, cock hanging out. I’d seen that happen enough times that I imagined you’d be yanking on it so hard it was like you were trying to choke it to death.”

“And you just watched me do this of course?”

Arya grins.

“I’d stand in the corner, you wouldn’t pay me any mind. You would just keep touching yourself, moaning and groaning. Sometimes I imagined you’d call out my name.”

Gendry’s standing quiet.

“So you wanted to watch me, huh?”

Arya’s smile softens. 

“Used to watch a lot. Brothels and taverns and alleyways...it was more fun to think about someone I actually wanted to watch.”

Of course, women’s tits and rumps were of little interest to her, and the animal but often passionless couplings in brothels only little more. Sometimes a pair of proper lovers would slip into an alleyway, and she found more interest there, in their bodies moving together. She saw lots of cocks too, Arya thought, but never ones she wanted to. Even the glimpses she got of Gendry’s, back when he used to piss in front of her, had just been out of idle curiosity, rather than lust, and hadn’t made an impression, no matter how hard she tried to summon them up again with her fingers down her breeches. 

Gendry smiles lazily, and moves so his back is against the wall. If anyone else came into the forge, their view would be obscured by his table and anvil. Not that Arya would let them get through. 

Her eyes watch him, burning. 

He unlaces himself. He doesn’t push his breeches down, just pulls his cock through the fly, hard and red, heavy in his hand. 

He remembers taking himself in hand as a lad, lonely and alone. No oil or even water available. Stroking and tugging and twisting, going tighter until he realized there was such a thing as too tight. Spilling on his clothes, or sheets, or the floor. 

Now he settles for just tight enough. No need to rush things. Tugging his cock, with long, smooth, slow strokes, breathing soft and deep. 

Making very deliberate eye contact with his wife the whole time.

From her eyes, nearly black with desire, she definitely is enjoying watching.

When the skin of his cock is pulled tight, he stops. 

“Why did you-”

He steps close to her, touching her shoulders, nose pressed close to hers. 

“Well given that I don’t fancy the idea of having to stay down here for another hour-”

Arya chuckles. They teased each other often about the possibility that they were getting old, Gendry teasing Arya when her back hurt in the morning, even when she hadn’t been training with the guards, Arya teasing him in return about how long it took him to get hard again after spilling.

His hands wander down to her hips, pulling her closer to him. 

“You didn’t think you were the only one with fantasies that took place down here did you?”

Arya raises an eyebrow. She kisses his chin, then the underside, then down to his collar, which she starts to unclasp. 

“So are you going to tell me about these?”

That night, Gendry discovers that Arya, bent over his anvil, sings sweeter than any steel.


	23. Day 23: Edging

Arya’s on her back, Gendry’s face between her legs. It’s a darn fine place to be. 

Gendry runs his tongue around her nub, so slowly. Her breath hitches, and he listens closely. 

He used to think her pleas were impatient, overeager. He had been surprised by her request that night. 

She had clearly been in the mood since supper, pressing herself up closer to his side, whispering in his ear. 

When they had retired to their chambers, she had told him. 

“I want you to get me as close to the edge as you can, and then back off and not let me go over.”

Gendry raises an eyebrow. That sounds like something that might get him punched.

She explains though. 

“Back in Braavos...I never knew if I would get interrupted. Sometimes I would. Once or twice, it took days before I could actually get myself to come. Want to know a secret? The longer I drew it out, the better it felt when I did come.”

And so they undressed, Arya climbed on top of him, and he set off to work.

He’d started off gently warming her up. Touching all the sensitive bits on her, her neck, her belly, her wrists. Her spine. The insides of her thighs. Featherlight touches on her nub. 

When she was wet and breathing hard, he set in a little harder. Rolled her onto her back and slid a finger into her while he sucked on each of her nipples in turn.

She yanked his hair gently. 

“Pull back,”

And he does. She whimpers, but nods at him to keep going.

Then he adds another finger. 

His fingers get her close again, two plunging in and out when she tugs his hair again. 

(And that isn’t doing anything at all for his own state of arousal at all, no sir)

After that, he spreads her thighs open and begins to tease her with his mouth.

Arya hands in his hair get more urgent. This act turns her into a voracious animal, and Gendry loves it. 

(He loves watching her like this, watching for the pink that appears between her curls when she opens her legs, like a secret just for him).

It doesn’t take long, a few strong licks along her cunt with his tongue, and she’s pulling him back again. She groans like she doesn’t want him to, but she keeps pulling, so he pulls back. 

He begins to pay more attention to her nub, swollen and red, and Arya begins to wriggle wildly, her words turning into nonsense. 

He circles it a few more times, and feels Arya’s fingers in his hair again, but not pulling, just rubbing his scalp. 

“Give up?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Get up here,’ Arya says, voice thick, “It’s going to be a hard one, and I don’t want you to miss out.”

Gendry grins widely, and slides up her body, to kiss her and then roll her on top so she can slide down on him.

This had been one of the most mystifying discoveries about the female body for Gendry to discover. He’d heard stories over the years, of how women could climax more than one time in a row, if they were with a skilled lover. Arya had proven this to him. He could remember, vividly, the pride he had felt the first time he had coaxed two orgasms out of her on his cock.

But sometimes, she explained, sometimes that first orgasm was too strong. It was so strong she felt like all her muscles clenched tight. Painfully. When she had these, she could barely stand to be touched at all for several minutes afterwards, couldn’t even bear to have his cock stay inside her. The first time he’d seen her come like this, with her wincing and gasping and cringing, that he had to gingerly pull out and spill on her stomach. 

And he loves her so much that she wants him inside her before she does it this time. 

She draws it out as much as she can, moving slowly on his cock. He’s not close enough to come before her, but he tries. He watches her face contort, her lips hanging open, her gasps getting faster and faster. 

He relishes in the feeling of her cunt squeezing him, so wet and warm, while he can. Then she comes, and he very nearly comes too. 

Carefully, he pulls himself out while she sort of collapses, limbs flopping. It only takes a stroke or two before he comes, grunting, painting her stomach with thick stripes of seed. 

(He thinks she enjoys that too, but is too embarrassed to bring it up).

She rolls off him onto her pillow. Her eyes stare blankly at the ceiling. 

“You broke me,” she says, “You actually broke me.”

And for once, Gendry gets to be the one to smirk.


	24. Day 24: First Time

Gendry tried his best not to pay any remembrance to his own first time. 

This runs through his mind when Arya approaches him. As much as he would say it took him off guard, it doesn’t really. He’d noticed her gaze on him a bit when they were young. He’d seen the way she looked at him now, and felt the way he looked back.

He thinks to Renna, at the brothel in the crownlands. He knew he was just another in a line for her, and the experience hadn’t been much more for him, something that he doesn’t think would have happened at all if not for the first.

(If he hadn’t so needed something to get the memory of _her_ hands off of him…)

He hopes she’s doing OK. She didn’t seem to much like the work, not many of the girls did in their off time, just appreciated that it kept them fed, warm and under a roof. Renna was getting on in years, he hopes it still is keeping her fed. 

He misses Jeyne, but he doesn’t much miss her in his bed. It’s her smile, or her laugh, he thinks of when he misses her. He misses nights laughing after finishing work. He hopes they had been good to each other, her a glimpse of what a little bit of normalcy could be like, him a balm for her heart that he suspected had been broken. That’s what he thinks made it nice at the time, that they knew they weren’t going to break each other’s hearts.

(He likes to think he wouldn’t have spared a single thought to another woman if Arya hadn’t asked)

The only thought he spares to _her_ is when Arya asks. The bile rises in his throat when he denies it. Arya’s face shifts, and he suspects she knows his words aren’t completely truthful, but she doesn’t call him on it, so she must not mind too much.

(And while parts of his mind still tell him he should push her away, that this isn’t a good idea, that fleeting thought is what sticks. Arya deserves her first time to be so much nicer than his. He thinks of the brave girl in his memory who became the confident woman in front of him now, and he wants to make it nice for both of them).

From the speed at which she strips and climbs on top of him, Gendry suspects he’s the one who will have to slow down. His heart stops at the sight of the ugly scars on her side, but he tries not to stare. He knows she wouldn’t want that, even if he can’t help but wonder what horrors the world has thrown her way since he’d seen her before.

When he begins to touch her, she only shivers a little. Her face is still brave. The only time he’s seen it falter was when she was waiting for him to respond, waiting in the moment where he might reject her. It astounds him a little, that she could be so brave, facing death, facing him after all these years, facing something that far too many would insist would ruin her.

He always admired her bravery. And she could never be ruined, not to him.

(Her skin is soft, and much of it is smooth, and the shivers she makes under his hands…)

Arya tries to take him inside too fast, and winces. Gendry runs his hands up and down her sides, murmuring against her shoulder, “Gently, go slower.”

(She’s so warm, he thinks, so tight, so perfect…)

He sits up and leans to kiss her through. His hands find her breasts, modestly-sized but lovely. Lovelier than he could have ever thought, she hid them so well. He teases her nipples to a point and feels her gasp, and grow wetter around his cock. Good, that’s good he thinks. 

He continues trying to soothe her until her face turns, no longer pained. 

And then it turns again, to wonder. She begins to move, slowly like he’d said, and her eyes light up. And his heart swells. In that moment, everything he had bottled up, the sight of Arya’s face as he was dragged away, the guilt at the thought of what she must have thought of him then. The horror when he’d believed she must have died, knowing he had left her. 

She would never believe that again, not if he had any say.

He groans, it’s been far too long for him, he fears he won’t last, but he won’t let her get out of this without some pleasure of her own. 

He reaches blindly, distracted by her rocking, feeling for that mysterious little nub. Arya’s jolts, and her eyes go even wider when he finds it, and she cracks a grin, and it’s all Gendry can do to not come right then, to lose himself in her and forget they might die in the morning.

As he rubs it, she shivers more, shivers and makes little cries and suddenly comes down hard and squeezes and cries out again…

Her body is uncharacteristically soft and pliant, and Gendry holds her in his arms as he groans and spills himself in her, rather dramatically, he might say. 

(When he pulls out, he gets a brief glimpse of his seed dripping down her thighs, and is overcome by a rush of possessiveness that he will hate himself for when this is all over and the possible reality hits him)

When his breathing slows, Gendry is struck by a momentary chill (it’s so fucking cold in the north here) and he leans over to pull his discarded cloak over them. 

He catches a brief sight of Arya’s face, pressed against his chest, seemingly serene. He’s overcome by a rush of fondness, and wraps an arm around her, rubbing the back of her neck through her sweaty hair. 

(He wants to feel like this again, wants to feel like this with her all the time. He wants to make sure she never feels the way she did the day he was taken away ever again. He hopes he gets the chance)

“You’re wonderful,” his whispers to her, already being dragged by the allure of sleep, and he doesn’t know if she even hears him. 

The last thing he remembers is feeling his cloak shift, and a draft.


	25. Day 25: Sex Toys

Gendry stares, eyes somewhat wide, at the glass toy Arya had pulled from her bag. 

“Where’d you get it?” he asks her. 

“Essos,” she replies, running her fingers over the clear head. “It was the first place we stopped that had a big marketplace, with merchants and artists from all over. There was a glassblower there who was famous for, well-”

She gestures to the detailed and very recognizable glass cock in her hands.

“I’d been using my fingers to try and sate myself for the journey and it just wasn’t doing it anymore. This helped.”

(It hadn’t really done the trick either, but it was different enough. Arya realized there wasn’t an object that could cure her loneliness)

“What’s it feel like?”

Arya smiles. 

“Hard. It holds heat well, so I like to warm it up in my hands. It’s not really like a real cock though.”

No soft skin for one, she thought. No warm hands or soft lips or teasing words attached.

Gendry takes it and rolls it over in his hands. 

“Can I see?”

Arya’s eyes falter a little bit, before nodding. She looks almost embarrassed, before slipping off her breeches and sliding back on the bed. She’s touched herself for him before, she doesn’t know why this feels different. 

His eyes are glued to her though, as she spreads and starts herself off with her fingers, before taking the glass cock and sliding it’s head between her lips, feeling it fill her. The look on his face helps her along, making her wetter as she slides the glass in and out, smooth and fast, and eventually clenches around it. 

He still looks in awe when she pulls it out, panting, and moves to wrap it in her cloth so she can clean it later. 

“Can I use it on you sometime?”

Arya’s confused as to why he would want to do that instead of just fucking her with his own cock, but has no issue with it, so she tells him yes. 

It doesn’t come up for months. 

They’re kissing in bed, naked and just kind of rolling around lazily. Gendry’s eyes are heavy lidded, half closed. 

He reaches out to touch her face. 

“Can I try using the glass thing?”

He sounds almost shy asking. Arya’s heart catches in her throat, then nods. Whenever he sounds shy or embarrassed she wants to indulge him, wants to show him it’s okay. She slides off the bed and retrieves the item from her chest, where it lays wrapped in cloth.

She passes it to Gendry, who’s stretched out on the bed. 

“How do you want me?”

Gendry pats his stomach. 

“Right up here.”

Now it’s Arya’s turn to feel shy. 

It’s not like he’s never seen her like this, she thinks, as she swings her leg over his torso, spreading her cunt open in front of his eyes. But it’s different somehow, she feels so much more exposed. 

He just touches her at first, fingers gentle, eyes thoughtful. Arya’s breath quickens, feels herself shifting under her skin.

Then he retrieves the glass cock from where it lays by his side. 

He just teases it at her entrance at first, getting the tip wet. Arya gasps, feeling her nipples harden. She liked to warm it up first, but the cold glass is a fun contrast too. She feels unbalanced, her hips are tilted so far back, and she braces a hand on Gendry’s thigh, 

When he splits her on it more fully, Arya watches him moan, watching her cunt swallow it up. It’s heady for her to see too, the hard and unyielding glass filling her up. It’s making noises, obscene noises sliding in and out of her.

He moves it slowly, thoughtfully. Studying her. Brings his other hand up to her cunt, and softly begins teasing her nub at the same time, just a single finger making minuscule circles on it. 

“I can see every inch of you like this,” he whispers, almost sounding in awe.

And the combination, his eyes and his finger and the smooth glass, threatens to drive her mad. She feels herself getting wetter, like she must be dripping all over it. The squelching noises it makes as it exits her and slides right back in are getting louder. 

Gendry meets her eye. 

“Go ahead and fuck it properly,” he tells her, with a teasing smile.

Arya takes a deep breath, and begins to fuck herself on the glass, hips thrusting down to meet Gendry’s hand, the glass sliding faster and faster, and her moaning at the increased friction. She is dripping now, she can tell, her arousal leaking onto Gendry’s fingers and his stomach below her.

Gendry’s still studying her, like she’s on display for him. Like she’s exotic, and fascinating. A wonder of the world. Her heart catches in her throat. 

As she begins to come, she lets it wash over her. As Gendry grins, and when he removes the glass toy, slowly, Arya pushes herself backwards, reaching for his cock, which is unimaginably hard against her backside. 

“You got your wish,” she tells him, “Now I need the real thing.”


	26. Day 26: Strip Tease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this chapter entirely exist to show off my knowledge of [era-appropriate clothing](https://andreamatthewswritersblog.wordpress.com/2015/08/27/period-clothing-2/) which I can't even indulge in SCA/Ren Faire stuff because I hate sewing at least as much as Arya does?

It was after a long feast, they were both dressed and primped, had a few drinks in them and were frustrated. 

“I can’t fucking get it!” Arya huffed, trying desperately to reach the lace on the back of her gown. The one that held the sleeves together over the oval of skin visible over her shift. 

After watching her struggle, Gendry stood up and found where she had Needle mounted. Always handy, always kept sharp. 

“Turn around he says,” he holds the blade up and carefully, so very carefully, slides it under the tie on her gown. He does it again, with the one in the middle of her back. He knows Mollie will rage if he damages it too badly, but two ties are easy to replace. 

He feels the fabric cut, and watches as the fabric separates in the back, the filmy sleeves beginning to fall loose, revealing just a bit of Arya’s soft, pale neck. Her back heaves, and the outer gown falls from her body. 

Her gray eyes are dark, nearly all black, and Gendry is taken aback.

“The stays on my kirtle, start with the top,” she says next. 

Gendry swallows.

He slides the blade under the tie at the top of her kirtle and cuts it. Then he moves and cuts the other at the bottom. The kirtle stays up, The whole thing is run through with strips of dried reeds, to keep it stiff, except for the spots in the sides where Arya had, in a fit of rage, finally cut them loose and pulled them out, claiming they chafed her underarms too badly.

The strings pull wider and wider, far too slow, and slowly start to drift south. Once they finally get loose and go free, the garment gets bunched up around Arya’s waist, blocked by her petticoat. Her tits are relieved from their binds, and bounce free underneath her shift. 

Arya turns again. 

The string on her shift is easy, it practically slips under the blade, falls loose revealing more skin, and when Arya turns to him, one rosy nipple, and then the other. Her whole upper body is now bare. 

The petticoat is going to drive Gendry mad. 

“There’s a tie,” Arya says, “In the back, if you can get it loose-”

Gendry examines her closer. He has to be careful, there’s such a mess of fabric.

He finds the tie. 

Arya’s kirtle and petticoat and shift all drop to the floor, slowly, so slowly. Her round bum is first revealed to Gendry’s eyes, then her strong thighs, long legs. The dark curls hiding her sweet cunt,

Gendry swallows again. All that extra fabric, Arya had said, no need to wear smallclothes. 

“I’ll leave my stockings on,” she tells him with a grin. Then she reaches for Needle.

“My turn?” she asks, with hopeful eyes. 

It’s easier for Gendry. He doesn’t fear her slipping, despite her eagerness to get him nude. The ties are on the front of her jerkin pop with ease, one by one. 

His shirt is a bit more trying. But after she cuts the front tie, Needle’s tip pushes the linen away from his shoulders so it could begin to fall. 

Arya’s eyes rake up and down the smooth expanse of his chest, the dark hair and round nipples. She’s much closer than he had been, he can feel her breath on his skin

The laces on his breeches take absolute trust. Even if it’s Arya, Gendry doesn’t much fancy sharp things that near his cock. Especially when it’s throbbing as much as it is now. 

She’s fast, and they sink. She has to push at them too, delicately. Then, she cuts his stocking garters first, the garments sinking to his feet. 

“Ready for the final show?” she asks with a grin. She’s eyeing his smallclothes, the dark gray silk (a gift from her and Mollie). They’re tented by his cock, hard and wanting, held back from her by only a pair of side-ties.

She leans forward, and kisses it through the soft fabric, feeling it throbbing and leaking under her lips.

Gendry nods. Arya is standing in front of him naked as her name day save for the stockings tied just above her knees, but is the one holding the sword, and right now, all the power. 

And with two quick cuts to the ties on the sides of his smallclothes, so is he.

Arya steps out of the pile of fallen clothing, and is upon him, with the look of a wolf approaching her prey. 

She licks her lips.

In the morning, Mollie only scolds them for ten minutes over the damaged ties.


	27. Day 27: Rough Sex

It had all started from a discussion one day, whether Gendry thought he could have stolen her like a wildling. 

Then Arya had raised her eyebrow. 

“Want to find out?”

The next thing Gendry knew, they were in the Godswood, stripped naked for ease, their clothes left in a pile by a bush. 

“What’s the word?”

“Time out.”

“Any other restrictions?”

“Not in the face, the throat or the balls.”

“Fair.”

And with that, Arya wiggles once in his direction, and then spins and sprints off.

Thankfully, Gendry’s legs are longer. 

He grabs her by the arm, and Arya kicks him in the leg. He hops for a moment, before taking off after her. 

After a few more close calls, he manages to grab onto Arya again, squeezing her shoulders (he thinks) hard enough so she can’t wiggle free. 

He’s wrong. He can’t decide if he’s mad or not that she’s actually making him work for this. His blood is thrumming through him though, and from the pink on Arya’s cheeks, she is clearly not unaffected either.

Finally, he manages to corner her against a tree. Her whole face is pink now and her lips slightly parted. Gendry’s been a little hard since this started, but having her pressed against the tree like this, he’s at full mast. Arya’s eyes are flitting up and down his form, and when she moves one of her legs a little, he can practically smell how aroused she is.

He’s entertaining the lovely image of having her up against the trunk, maybe getting one of her legs on his shoulder with her backside pressed into the bark, but she bolts, slamming one hand into his chest.

He reels, but all it takes is one movement of his foot, and she trips and tumbles to the grass. 

This is where Gendry has the advantage. She can’t outrun him on the ground, and he is still so much heavier than her.

He presses his chest to her back, pinning her, and uses his hands to hold her thighs open for him. His cock touches her wet cunt, and a rush goes through him. She’s his, all his, for him to have his way with. 

It almost disturbs him.

He enters her like that, and Arya growls, arches her back and presses her bum against him. With another grin, Gendry remembers she wanted this as bad as him.

He growls in return, planting his hands on her shoulders and slamming into her, nearly making her shout. He shuts his eyes, enjoying the heat spreading from their joining, when there’s a yelp of pain, and a loud-

“TIME OUT”

He pulls out, and back, nearly in shock, 

“Did I,”

“Ow, fuck, you’re pinning my hair, stop it, you like that not me.”

With a sigh of relief, Gendry removes his fingers from her hair, and rolls it into a ball on her neck. 

“Good,” Arya says, relieved. Then she reaches back and pats her hip, angling her bum so he can see her glistening pink folds. 

“Now get back to ravishing your prize.”

With gusto, Gendry plunges back into her hot cunt and resumes fucking her into the grass, while she moans and grabs whatever she can reach for purchase.

His hands have been still pinning her shoulders down against her struggles. He leaves a bruising kiss at the base of her neck, to match the bruises that will probably raise on her shoulders. 

Then he moves his hands down to her hips. He squeezes them greedily, and tilts them to let him pound into her deeper. Arya resumes her fighting and wiggling, her hips swaying and circling over his cock while he enjoys the tight, wet heat of her cunt and the rush from her body writhing and bucking under him. 

Arya’s noises get more frantic, and Gendry knows she’s close to coming. He presses his weight onto her more fully, pushing her towards the ground hoping it will give her some extra friction against her nub.

Arya comes howling and clawing at the grass, like the she-wolf she is. Gendry grins, and ready to let himself go, pounds into her harder, once, twice, three more strokes, before filling her cunt with his seed.

And then the burn hits his muscles, and he actually collapses on top of her. 

“Ow! Get off me you giant oaf!” Arya squalls, sliding her foot under his leg and rolling him off of her roughly. Gendry grunts when he lands on his back. 

Arya doesn’t get up from her stomach though. 

“I think we need to get less ambitious with these ideas.”

“You left a giant bruise on my chest.”

“Sorry,” Arya wiggles and winces, “And I better not have to ride a horse anywhere for a day or two.”

“Sorry,” he rolls onto one side to look at her, “So? Think you’ll slit my throat in my sleep tonight?”

Arya hums. 

“You did make me come awfully hard. I think I’ll let you live for a while.”


	28. Day 28: Roleplay

Arya hadn’t meant anything about it when she asked him.

“It’s your name day,” she had started off, “So whatever you want, you pick this time.”

Gendry had turned bright red, and muttered to himself a bit, before answering. 

“I-I...I’d like us to be a knight and a princess.”

There’s a pause. 

“What kind of knight,” Arya asks first, followed by “And what kind of princess?”

Gendry sighs deeply, before speaking. 

“A gallant, virtuous knight and a grateful princess he’s just rescued who wants to reward him.”

Arya nods and doesn’t say anything. They don’t speak about it afterwards. 

But his name day comes, and when he steps into their chambers at night, Arya’s wearing her finest dress. It’s dark blue velvet, with trailing sleeves and a square neckline. It’s an older style, unboned, held up only by back ties. She’s wearing it without a petticoat, so it will be easier to remove. 

Her eyes are wide.

“Good Ser,” she starts, breathy, “I didn’t think anyone would come. I thought I would die up here.”

Gendry lowers his eyes, trying to get into character.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, hands on her shoulders, “You’re safe now.”

She throws her arms around him, and hopes he can smell the jasmine oil she dabbed on behind her ears.

She grips the muscles in his upper arms through his shirt. 

“I want to thank you,” she says, “for saving my life.”

Gendry tilts her head up, and Arya kisses him sweetly. 

They continued like that for a time, kissing slowly, and then Arya felt Gendry’s hands on the front of her gown. 

“Might I?” He asks, head tipped, perfectly polite. 

Arya nods primly, 

“You may.”

His hands slip under the front of her gown, and softly touch her breasts. 

Arya feels her nipples harden under her touch and tries to force a blush, imagining how scandalized she would be at this. 

When she begins to feel extra warm and aroused, Arya lets her hands drift downwards towards Gendry’s laces. She is surprised when Gendry stops her hands. 

She gazes up at him through her eyelashes. 

“Do you not want me to please you, Ser?”

He brings her hands to his lips. 

“I shant dishonor you, my lady.”

Arya pulls back, and nods. Apparently really did want to be a gallant knight.

“It is true, my maidenhead has been promised to my betrothed.”

She screws up her face. Some of this is digging in a little deep.

“I haven’t even met him. I don’t want him. I want-”

She turns her eyes to him, pleading, 

“Can you..”

Gendry smiles and kisses her cheek. 

“If you lie back on the bed, I can make you feel good.”

Sneakily, he reaches and undoes the top tie on her gown before she falls back. 

Soon, he’s on top of her, kissing her again. His fingers push down the neckline of her gown enough to free her tits, which he also kisses, along with her neck and jaw and ears and everything in between. 

Arya is one inch away from whining when Gendry finally shifts and moves to lift her skirt up. 

“Trust me?” he whispers, giving her an opening to stop him. She doesn’t.

Slowly, far too slowly. He lays it around her hips, almost neatly. He wouldn’t want to leave any evidence of their tryst. 

She hears him chuckle, and grins to herself. She’d worn the silk just for him. 

He runs a finger along her hip through her smallclothes. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he tells her, “As long as these stay on, then your maidenhead is safe.”

He moves to plant a kiss to her nub, which is swollen and red and ripe for the taking through the smooth fabric. Arya gasps, and brings a hand to her mouth. 

He does that for a long time. Runs his fingers along her lips through the fabric, feeling them warm and wet. Circles her nub, looking up at her between (wondering if princess Arya had even known it was there). Feeling the smooth silk dragging over her, Arya begins to understand why Gendry is so fond of it. Her wetness clings to the fabric, they will no doubt show evidence of what he’s doing, but Arya can’t care even a little as his fingers and lips worship her sensitive bits. Soon, she is quite close.

She reaches down and tugs him up to her face.

“I want to feel you too,” she tells him, sounding painfully earnest. 

Gendry smiles and obliges her. 

When he settles himself between Arya’s legs, she can feel him through his trousers, terribly hard.

“Is that?” she asks, eyes fluttering, “All for me?”

Gendry smiles and kisses her as he begins to grind his erection against her. Arya whimpers, trying to press harder to feel more, but the layers of cloth somehow make it both duller and more intense. 

(She was plenty wet before, now she imagines the silk clinging to her obscenely).

“All for you,” he whispers to her.

“No one else could make me feel like this,” Arya blurts out, “My betrothed could never. This is all for you too.”

He buries his face into her neck as he begins to move faster against her. Arya brings her thighs up around his hips, seeking greater friction, bucking against him. 

When she begins to come, she turns her face back to his so he can see as her face opens in pleasure, hear as her gasps turn desperate. 

Sweaty, Arya asks. 

“Quick time out?”

Gendry nods, and she can tell from his face that he is close to coming himself. 

“I can’t believe you wasted your name-day pick on something where you didn’t even fuck me.”

Gendry grinned sheepishly. He sat up on the bed, and watched where she was still laying back.

“I get to fuck you all the time. I guess I just wanted to...I don’t know, let an old fantasy out for a while.”

Arya blinks. She would be loathe to admit, but some part of her has had this fantasy in her head too. That if her life hadn’t come tumbling down the way it had, Gendry would have appeared and carried her off, away from an unwanted betrothal. She had never voiced these, but apparently she hadn’t been the only one to think it.

She knows Gendry must know that she was never going to be a scared princess, ready to fall in love with a knight who rescued her, but that must have been what he thought when he first learned she was a princess, all those years ago. He was very nearly a knight too, it occurs to her, before the Brotherhood sold him off.

“Back on,” Arya says, one second before pushing herself up and slipping off the bed and onto her knees. 

“We aren’t done.”

She reaches for his laces. 

“My lady,” Gendry starts. 

Arya tilts her head upward to meet his eye, using her Lady voice. 

“I’m the princess here,” she says firmly, “And I say you deserve to be rewarded.”

She unties him. 

“My Septa would be in shock right now, but her teachings taught me a few things. Namely, my maidenhead isn’t in my mouth.”

Gendry wasn’t so sure that a grateful princess would suck off a random knight until he came across her tits, even if he had saved her from certain death. But Arya had never been an average lady, or an average princess.


	29. Day 29: Blindfolds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More kinkfail this chapter, another result of Arya's past

Arya had been really excited to try the blindfolds. She remembered the elegant words of some of the courtesans in Braavos, the ones with skill and class who spoke of pleasure and not just fucking. The ones who commanded respect, and always carried themselves with poise. She remembered their words about the realms of the senses, and how they could be opened.. 

And Gendry had tied it on easily enough, the dark fabric over her eyes. 

At the first touch of his hand to her shoulder once he does, Arya shudders. But it’s not a good shudder. Her breath quickens, and she tries to calm herself. 

She feels her skin begin to get clammy why she can feel Gendry’s breath on her skin.

When Gendry begins to touch her, no more forcefully than he might normally, her heart begins to race. Her breath has gone heavy and ragged when he begins to nuzzle her neck. Soon she’s gasping and sweating and she feels Gendry freeze even before she manages to get out,

“Time out, time out, time out.”

It takes far too much time for her to go back to normal, Gendry rips the blindfold off at her first word, and then wraps her in a blanket and her heart is still pounding when he leaves to fetch her a cup of tea. 

She sips it. Gendry looks at her anxiously, but doesn’t ask her anything. The words still tumble out.

“When I was at the House of Black and White, I took a life that wasn’t mine to take, so they took my sight. I lived as a blind beggar on the streets, and every day the Waif came and attacked me.”

Gendry looks horrified, 

“I didn’t-”

“I wasn’t even thinking about it,” Arya admits, “But with that damn thing on it all came rushing back. The sense that if I wasn’t on my toes all day every day, I would get hurt again.”

Arya’s quiet as she sips her tea. She feels vulnerable, embarrassed. She thinks of those beautiful, respected courtesans in Braavos, and imagines they never felt like this. They would never cringe away from performing such a simple act for their lovers.

(After all these years, Arya still sometimes feels like she falls short comparing herself to other women). 

After a moment, she asks Gendry. 

“Am I boring?”

He looks crossly at her. 

“Have you been listening to Bella again?”

Arya snorts, thinking of one of Gendry’s half sisters who Bran had helped them meet. She wasn’t exactly like one of the glamorous courtesans in Arya’s mind, but she could be rather opinionated.

“We told her we would never bring someone else into our bed. I can’t handle being blindfolded, I fall asleep every time you try to tie me up.”

That’s not even getting into the times they took Bella’s advice and tried out playing power games, where one of them got to be completely in charge in bed. Turns out, while both on occasion enjoyed being physically dominated or even roughed up a bit, neither liked being ordered around in bed, not even while pretending to be other people, and the whole situation ended in a couple of deeply childish rows.

(Gendry would freely admit he enjoys when Arya gets bossy and tells him to kiss her like that, fuck her this way, but that was different. Those were directions, he said, and he drew the line at commands).

“Arya,” Gendry says, “Both the blindfolds and the ties were your ideas. Most ideas you’ve had I never would have even thought to ask for. If you’re boring, I’m worse.”

Gendry had never said this out loud, but even though he was the one who had been with others before, Arya seemed to have a lot more knowledge of things people did in the bedroom than him, even if most of it was theoretical. 

He leans over to kiss her cheek. 

“But I don’t think you’re boring. Don’t remember last week in the library when we kept hearing people walking by the door but kept going anyway? I don’t think a boring person would do that.”

He pauses before continuing. 

“We can try again sometime if you want, if you want to try and get past this. Or we can just forget it, I’ll never bring it up again.”

Arya smiles. Once again, he’d seemed to be able to take one of her broken parts and find its place without even trying.

“Now,” Gendry says, kissing her again. He picks up the blindfold from where he had thrown it. 

“How about you try putting this on me?”

Arya’s heart rate jumps again. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been blind like you. Besides, as we’ve established, I am much duller than you, it seems to work out better when I follow your lead.”

Arya’s heart thrums a bit while she ties it on his, but not in the same way it had earlier. Gendry doesn’t even flinch, he sits as still as before. Patient. 

Arya’s heart flutters.

“What do you see?” 

“Darkness.”

She’s quiet, thinking. She drops the blanket and carefully kneels over his lap, not close enough to touch. 

“What do you smell?”

Gendry takes a deep breath. 

“That sticky oil you put in your bath sometimes.”

Arya smiles. It’s called benzoin, but he could never remember. Something else she’d brought back from Essos. She leans in a bit close, raising herself enough so that her tits are hovering right in front of his face. There is gooseflesh raised on her arms, being so close to him but him being mostly unaware.

“What do you taste?”

His tongue darts out and finds her nipple. Arya sighs happily as his lips don’t speak as he wraps his lips around it. 

Who cared about those courtesans anyway?


	30. Day 30: Semi-public sex

The first part of the great council meeting had been terribly important. Important issues affecting nearly all of Westeros had been raised. 

The talks that continued afterwards were less so. The gathering had attracted members of many of the lesser lands who had complaints over the past decade, and took this time to bring their issues to a head. 

It was dreadfully boring. 

Arya and Gendry were sitting alone on the short end of the long table. Most of the others were paying attention to the speaker on the other end. They were not. 

Arya is resting her head on her forearms. After a while, she lets one hand fall off, under the long edge of the table. That hand finds its way to Gendry’s groin. 

He jumps. 

“Sorry,” Arya says, rubbing him through his breeches, “But I’m bored.”

Gendry scowls, which Arya didn’t know he was capable of when she was touching his cock. It’s begun to harden, she can tell.

“Stop that,” he whines.

“What are you going to do, give me a spanking?” Arya asks, with an impish smirk, though she does stop moving her hand. She keeps it there though, feeling his cock beginning to throb.

Gendry snorts. 

“The men here might think I was just putting you in your place.”

Arya snorts too as she resumes touching him. 

“Jokes on them, it just turns me on.”

She reaches for his laces and pulls them. 

“Would you roll me over when you were done and lick me up like I was the feast?”

Gendry snorts harder, and hides his face in his hands. Arya lets out a giggle too. 

“Sorry, that was awful.”

“It sounded like something I would say.”

Gendry had finally admitted that lust seemed to cloud the speech section of his brain, rendering him incapable of saying anything even vaguely intelligent.

Gendry pats her hand. 

“Cut it out though. Your brother’s at the end of the table, I’d like him to be able to look me in the eye after this.”

Oh yeah, Arya thought, sparing a glance at Bran all the way at the other end of the table.

“Fine. But I make no promises once the feast starts.”

“Lysa and Lyra are joining us at the feast, remember.”

Arya reaches out again and takes his hand this time. 

“They’ll be so tired they’ll head upstairs before the fun even starts. You just wait and see.”

Right now, Gilly was helping the twins get dressed and ready. When Arya and Gendry went upstairs to fetch them for the feast, they are dressed in purple and standing with Gilly and little Sam and Nella, waiting for them. 

Keeping track of them during the feast does distract both Arya and Gendry. Lyra and Lysa are overall quite well-behaved girls, but this is new to them, this big castle full of interesting things. Arya does strictly enforce her father’s old rule- they are allowed to sip from one cup of wine, but no more. Being that they’re twins, she can even trick them into thinking they have to share the cup.

But once most of the food (and ale) has been consumed and the dancing starts (and the drinking continues), They both begin to wear down. 

Arya’s still not fond of dancing, but minds it less now that she only has to do it with him. She keeps her promise, and while they’re dancing, her hands sneak and wander. While the twins are trading off with Sam and Nella, their parents take their time.

When they had first married, part of Gendry wondered if he was going to be able to keep up with Arya, who always seemed to have such a powerful appetite. They did find themselves in sync quite quickly, and Gendry came to realize that while he was scared one day Arya would decide he wasn’t enough for her, Arya was insecure that one day he might grow bored of her. Being with Arya raised his fire, and being with him made Arya contemplative.

But like this, among highborns he used to despise, dressed like them, is the only time Gendry really feels like what he’s supposed to be. This is pretty much the only time when he truly feels like a lusty, brazen bastard.

Arya’s gown is simple, but has a rather voluminous skirt. When they’re dancing, Gendry appreciates the view from the top, and while they stand on the sides, he sneaks a kiss on her cheek or her neck, and takes the opportunity to sneak a squeeze of her bum too. He takes the time to appreciate having her in his arms. Arya’s cheeks are pink, and she’s only had a little ale. 

But soon, they part, Arya going to get all the children off to bed.

Before, she gestures up the wall of the Great Hall. 

“See that little alcove? I’ll be up there.”

It’s close to a balcony, off one of the halls sprouting from the winding stairs. Gendry doesn’t like being in the Red Keep at all, and he doesn’t understand how Bran can navigate it in his chair. 

Gendry gets stopped so many times that by the time he gets to it, Arya’s already waiting for him. She’s already removed and folded her smallclothes.

“Sorry to keep milady waiting,” he tells her. She’s sitting on the balcony, looking to an on-looker like a princess sitting in a window in a song, mooning and longing. 

Well, a princess in a window with her husband under her skirts, licking her cunt. With everything else blocked from view, he is mesmerized by his vision of her, slick and pretty. Arya whines and tries to pull at his hair through her skirts, spreading her knees as well as she can.

Gendry can tell when she’s about to come when her thighs between to quiver around his ears, and he drinks every bit of it down while she sighs softly above him.

When he emerges, Arya, red-faced, pulls him in for a kiss, while she moves to let him sit too. He does, and unlaces himself. 

(He’s aching, has been half-hard since earlier, and he needs to bury himself in her so badly he almost can’t see straight)

Arya lifts her skirt and sits atop him. Unable to resist, Gendry grasps the back of her skirt and pulls it up to reveal her bum. He gives it a leer, and then a hard smack.

“That was for trying to jerk me off in front of people earlier,” he tells her smugly. Arya rolls her eyes, and lifts and sinks down on his cock. 

“No one was paying attention,” she insists as she rides him, “I could have leaned over and sucked you off and no one would probably have noticed.”

Gendry spares a glance over his shoulder, at the feasting going on below them. Then he returns his gaze to where it belongs, Arya’s tits moving underneath her gown. A small movement of fabric bares one of her nipples for him. 

“Think they’d pay us any mind now?” he asks, before sucking at the pale flesh of her collarbone while he rolls the newly revealed nipple.

Arya rolls her eyes again. 

“These walls have seen so much, they’ve seen Targaryens. We’re married, mostly clothed and not trying to be seen.”

She stretches and arches her back. Aside from increasing the depth of her thrusts, it also improves Gendry’s view. 

“We still make a better picture,” he insists as rubs her shoulders as he loses himself to her soft, squeezing cunt engulfing him. 

He doesn’t really think anyone else in Westeros is watching them, but maybe they should. 

(The next morning, Queen Sansa does turn a bit pink upon greeting them)


	31. Day 31: Non-penetrative sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel a little guilty that this is my only Kinktober entry that doesn't take place within the canon universe. But it just wouldn't make sense.
> 
> So today, vaguely pre-Industrial revolution rural UK AU.
> 
> [This is the practice as described, yes it was apparently real](https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/the-awkward-17thcentury-dating-practice-that-saw-teens-get-bundled-into-bags). [It's also described here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VK6mwqw0FqQ&t=2208s)

Arya huffs and throws herself back against the pillow. 

“This is stupid, we can’t even cuddle like this.”

“Don’t think we’re supposed to cuddle,” Gendry’s voice says, coming from over the wooden bundling board. Arya chafed at that too. She’d shared this bed with Sansa her whole life, and it was in her space. At least this night she might get to sleep without Sansa’s cold feet on the backs of her knees.

“Well what was the whole point of letting us sleep in the same bed tonight then?”

“Think we’re supposed to talk.”

Arya huffs again. They’d talked plenty already. 

Gendry may have been her cousin Jon’s friend first, but he was hers best. They had always ran races with the other children, and watched the boats on the lake on Sundays and played games during festivals. When she got a little older Arya rode her horse so much, it made sense that she would always find an excuse to ride to see the blacksmith to get her reshod. And if on his days off from his apprenticeship, she took him berry picking or for rides, what of it? 

Who would care if her father owned the big farm up the hill, and Gendry was just a blacksmith’s adopted son? Certainly not her.

She herself hadn’t thought anything of it until the dance at the last solstice. The night that Gendry, red all over his face, had asked her to join in one of the dances. The same night they had laughed for what seemed like hours over her two left feet. The same night that off to the side of the crowd, he had carefully pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. The night that Arya’s toes had curled in her boots and she had just wanted to turn her head so he would kiss her properly.

The night that her father had taken them aside and asked if they were courting. The night that Gendry had turned impossibly redder and nodded, saying, 

“Aye, if she’s willing.”

(Arya is only sixteen and hadn’t even wanted to think of such things yet. She attributes this as the reason her mother seemed so pleased when she ought to think Gendry was below her station. Robb and Sansa were being pursued by the children of families from over the hills, families with farms and lands even larger than the Starks, much more appropriate than the blacksmith’s apprentice).

A few weeks later, the board and sack had come out.

It was a ritual, it was explained, to discover if the two of them were compatible before they married.

The sack, Mum had explained while sewing it around Arya’s waist, was to ensure that the young man in her bed would not be overcome by passion at her nearness and deflower her before they could be properly wed. 

Gendry’s nostrils had flared (rather bull-like, Arya thought) when she’d given him the explanation. 

“Mum thinks all young men are full of uncontrollable lusts.”

“I’m not like that! I could have controlled myself.” He had insisted, looking increasingly bull-like.

Arya smiles. This was true. Gendry had always been big as a child, it had been easy for her to forget he was Jon’s age- barely two years her senior. And unlike Robb, who always had girls fawning around him or his best friend Theon, who’s exploits were presented as a warning to all the girls in the area, Gendry and Jon had always been somewhere between polite and embarrassed around girls.

Arya’s smile turns mischievous. 

“You know,” she starts off, “My chemise got all bunched up around my waist when Mum shoved me in here. There’s nothing at all between me and this sack.”

Gendry sighs, and Arya feels a jolt. Board and sack aside, she’s never been this close to him before, she can even smell him (like soap, with just a hint of soot. He’d scrubbed before showing up here.) And there was something different about it being in a bed. Thinking about it makes her feel warm and excited in a way she’d never really considered. 

“Go to sleep Arya. If your parents agree to let us marry, we’ll find out all about that soon enough.”

Arya pouts, and throws her head back, feeling embarrassed. 

“I never really thought about getting married at all...is it so bad to be curious?”

Gendry chuckles. 

“No, I guess not.”

Arya huffs again, pressing her shoulder against the wooden board. 

“If I can get over there, will you at least kiss me?”

Another chuckle. He reaches his hand over and takes hers.

“Sure.”

It takes a good bit of momentum for Arya to swing herself over the board (Mum should have tied her ankles, she must have forgotten), but with a rush of laughter, she makes it. It’s a good thing she landed on top of him, there’s not much room on his side either.

The sack is loose around her legs (she’s always been skinny). She hadn’t meant to land with her legs straddling Gendry’s waist, but it’s how she landed. Gendry’s body is solid under her, solid and strong from working the forge. He’s in a linen nightshirt and pants, thin enough for her to feel his form underneath her. She looks at his face, the soft dusting of a beard, and his clear blue eyes. 

She thinks she’s always known he was handsome, but never really known.

Kissing him was as nice as she had thought it would be. His lips are big and soft, and she shuts her eyes and could lose herself in them. A little jolt goes through her middle, but she doesn’t pay it much mind. 

Until she feels something hard beginning to raise and press insistently into her through the sack. 

“Oh,” she says, eyes half open, “Your cock’s getting hard.”

Gendry begins to sputter, and she rolls her eyes. 

“I have brothers, Gendry, I know boy’s cocks get hard when they get...excited.”

Growing up on a farm, Arya knew quite a lot about sex, but only very recently has she been able to wrap her mind around it being at all fun or pleasant. 

Experimentally, she wiggles against it. That feels good, very good. Judging from the shocked groan Gendry lets out, he thinks so too. 

So she does it again. 

She can vaguely feel moisture at her center, soaking into the burlap (this has happened to her on occasion in her clothes, but she’s never paid it any mind). With each movement of her hips, little sparks of pleasure shoot through her. Her mind goes hazy, and she starts to move faster. 

“Slow down,” Gendry says hoarsely, his eyes dark with desire. “It’s too rough.”

Oh, the burlap, Arya thinks. She spares a glance down at his cock, pushed up against the linen of his sleep pants. It looks somehow bigger than it felt, but from Gendry's voice, it must be sensitive. 

“Here,” he says, slipping his hand down to her in the sack. Rubbing against his hand doesn’t feel quite as lovely as rubbing against his cock, but it gets the blood rushing and soon Arya is chasing something, something she barely recognizes but can’t wait to reach. 

When she’s coming down, breathing hard, Gendry stands by the back door. Arya watches curiously, as in the shadows he pulls his cock out and rubs it in his hand until it spurts white into the dirt. 

Another mystery partially revealed. 

“Sorry,” Gendry says, returning to his side of the bed, tucking his front to her back. “Didn’t want everyone to find me in the morning having spilled myself down the front of my pants. Thought it might make your father frown upon our marriage.”

Marriage, there it is again Arya thinks, snuggled into Gendry’s front. 

“How come you want to marry me anyway?” she asks. 

Gendry’s quiet for a while, contemplative.

“A little bit of you being my best friend, the one person who I knew would always be happy to see me...and a little bit of staring at you from afar like a wild horse running free and wondering if you would let me ride you.”

Arya waggles her eyebrows, and while Gendry can barely see her, it still makes him laugh.

“You should get back on your side of the board.”

Arya’s quiet. 

“I like it better over here.”


End file.
